


no remedy for memory

by siempreniall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Coming Out, Dreams and Nightmares, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:45:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siempreniall/pseuds/siempreniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall finds his own escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Interlude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balefully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully/gifts).



> For the prompt: "Current-canon Nulian (Niall Horan/Julian Bunetta)! Preferably very porny, Niall and Julian start out just hooking up -- dirty, kinky, usually chemically altered in some way. They keep it hush-hush, and they're just guys being dudes...except Niall starts developing feelings. Angst ensues where he doesn't think Julian would want anything more, so he pretends to be fine with just being bros who hook up, but they're songwriting together and hanging out together and it's just so fun and comfortable and he likes Julian so much. Can have a happy or sad ending! I just really want a casual relationship that Niall wants to take farther but at least for a while he doesn't want to rock the boat, trying to be happy with whatever Julian wants to give him."
> 
> This story features an anxiety disorder, nightmares, drug use, and alcohol heavily. If any of these bother you please feel free to not read, read with caution, or ask me to explain how these are featured. I really know barely anything about weed or writing music, so please excuse my ignorance on these subjects. I tried my best and tried to stick to what I could pretend to understand! Zayn's departure is also talked about heavily, so you're being warned.
> 
> Also, of course this is the first Nulian fic and it's over 30k. 
> 
> Please don't send this to ANYONE INVOLVED. THIS IS ALL FICTION. I DON'T WANT TO MAKE ANYONE UNCOMFORTABLE.
> 
> Title from "Dark Paradise" by Lana del Rey.

Niall’s hand instinctively grips the handle of his guitar case. It cuts into his skin just right, and when the pressure feels almost too much to bear he lets himself relax. This isn’t usually what gets to him. Mostly it’s just large crowds and limitless stadiums and disappointment. Today, though, it’s the studio that Julian’s got rented in west London.

Usually studios are good and safe. Niall can sit on an over-sized couch, eat a whole box of pizza, and fuck about on his guitar all in the name of his craft. Julian’ll sit at his desk with those lucky headphones of his and pour over every note and word they churn out, and the rest of the band’ll do what they do best. Lyrics, chords, arrangements—whatever each of them is feeling up to for the day.

He hasn’t been getting out much, is the thing, and when he has it’s been feeling off. Ever since landing on British soil, off that plane from Dubai, Niall’s been having difficulty feeling _much_ , really. It’s been a process, to pick himself (and the band) back up. It’s been a slow process with Harry fucked off to London and Louis steaming in his thoughts and Liam pretending like nothing’s changed.

Still, the world doesn’t stop rotating just because Niall’s sad, and One Direction doesn’t stop being One Direction just because someone’s gone. So Niall replies “yes” to Julian’s request to see him in the studio and hopes that the giant, magnificent elephant in the room (with the perfectly-styled coif and the inked-up skin) can be danced around with all the grace Niall has to offer.

Julian doesn’t even hear him come in, he’s too tuned into whatever track he’s got playing through the computer. They’re alone, and it’s silent. Niall lays his guitar on the sofa and drops his keys on the ground, just to have something to do.

“Hey, Niall!” Julian yells out, getting out of his chair quickly to come up and hug him.

He’s gotten a lot of hugs recently, and they all have phrases attached. “That really fucking sucks” or “You can talk to me about it, you know?” or “Maybe you all should take a break”. Julian’s just says “You’re fucking twenty minutes late”.

“Sorry,” Niall rushes into the apology as soon as Julian lets him go, “I hit a bit of traffic. You know how London can be—terribly gridlocked as if the entire city can’t sit still for one moment,”

“Don’t mention it!” Julian waves him off as he goes to sit back down in his chair, “Been busy all night, barely noticed it,”

He winks; Julian always notices it.

“Anyways, grab your guitar and sit your skinny ass over here. I wanna hear what you’ve come up with, yeah?”

Niall nods and gets it out from his case. As he walks over he stops himself from thinking about how he’s _actually_ late because he fought with himself all day over whether he would cancel or not. And he was so _so_ close to actually doing it, until he managed to shift into autopilot and get out the door without thinking about it.

“I’m afraid it’s not much,” Niall starts with as he takes his seat. He’s got Julian’s full attention now; the headphones are off and the screen’s gone dormant. If he wants to show he’s been putting actually thought into Album Five then it would be now.

He rubs his fingers over the strings three times for good luck then starts. It’s only a little piece of something bigger, maybe about twelve seconds long, but by the end Julian’s already nodding his head along to the tune. Niall looks up at him and sticks his hand in his mouth to chew on the tips of his nails. It’s the international sign for Niall’s Done Tell Him What You Think.

“I like it!” Julian yells with a smile, “It’s a little dreamy. Is that what you were going for?”

“Something like it,” Niall mumbles.

“You were starting to go up at the end, though. Was that part of the plan?”

Finally he removes all digits from his mouth so he can speak clearly, “Yeah, I was thinking the pre-chorus was going to be a bit higher. A little lighter, you know,”

“I kinda like how low it was, though. I mean, this is your song but I felt it was a bit different from what you all have done before. I don’t know what I’m saying; it’s your baby,”

Niall clears his throat, some type of phantom phlegm stuck in the back. “No, no, no. That’s great. Low’s good, yeah. I think it fits the mood of the song better,”

“Yeah? What’s the mood,” Julian asks with an eyebrow raise.

“Like you said: dreamy,”

“And?”

“Dreamy and…” he tilts his head up and taps his chin, hoping that’ll get his magical, musical juices going, “I don’t know. I’m stuck. I’m still working it out,”

“I like it. Keep at it,”

This is better, then. It’s better than everything Niall had built up in his mind. He’s not broken and he’s not changed and his music hasn’t gone to shit just because he’s been having a little trouble focusing. He still gets something right.

“What else have you got?” Julian asks as he leans back in his chair. He’s just wearing a black tshirt and a pair of athletic shorts even though Niall’s sure he hasn’t done a workout since uni. It’s nice, though, to see a bit of familiarity.

“That’s it, I’m afraid,” he shrugs, “Sorry, not been the best lately,”

“Don’t worry about it, bro! Don’t apologize. What you’ve got is ace. Just expand upon it,”

“Yeah, it’s just,” he leans into the soft back, feels its padding envelop him, “I didn’t get to write a lot last album, because of the knee and everything. And this time I thought I’d come back running and I’d get everything right at the first shot. I see how much Louis and Liam get out of writing, and I want to, too,”

“But you don’t have to,” Julian reassures him, “If you want to you can focus on the instruments, on your guitar,”

Niall shakes his head, “I have things to say, it’s just getting them out that’s the problem,”

“Well, see, that’s a good thing. As long as you have the feelings and the ideas, they’ll find a way to get out of you. Sometimes you just gotta be patient. I know that’s not your strong suit but-”

“Shut it,” Niall laughs, then hits Julian’s knee that’s closest to him.

“So what’s the idea, then? What’ve you got cookin’ up in that mind of yours?”

“It’ll just have to be a surprise, huh?”

Julian sends Niall a smile then turns back to his screen, “Can’t fucking wait, bro,”

Niall nods and smiles, picks back up his guitar and goes over the part he played, time and time again, until his fingers are numb and it feels right.

**

There’s a knock on the door and Niall gets up to answer it, his feet moving unbelievably fast. He opens it, expecting what he doesn’t know, and sees nothing save a peek of a hand with an inked-on bird. Without even thinking or breathing or blinking he flees the room, and out in the hall he expects to see a lost body there, instead he finds nothing but the flash of a foot running through a door at the end. He dashes after it, faster than he’s ever known himself to run, and he can hear footsteps descending loudly through the staircase.

Quickly, quickly, quickly he runs down, skipping steps and taking giant leaps that don’t even reverberate through his knees. The stairs go on for floors and floors, and Niall can’t imagine anyone going faster than he is, but he never catches up. And once he reaches the ground he bolts out the door. It’s a lobby, a new one, and it should be full of people, but it’s not. No one to guide him or answer his questions. But he won’t give up, and he doesn’t need to when he sees a giant car pull up, tinted windows and all. Someone brings a familiar duffle bag towards it, the one with a skull and crossbones spray-painted onto it.

He runs towards the car just to see someone step up to it, and Niall stops immediately. It’s him, obviously. Even if he’s not facing in Niall’s direction, he knows it’s _him_. There’s no guessing. With the soft, black hair that hasn’t gotten around to finding any gel, and the skinny arms covered in art. It’s him, and then he’s gone. Packed away in the back of the car before Niall has a chance to unstick himself from his spot, and driving away down the street before Niall can blink.

With the car gone he’s able to move, and he sprints out the door, hands smudging prints into the obscenely pristine glass. It’s a busy city, but it’s all stopped so that Niall can see the car burst out of the horizon. So Niall can know he’s gone.

\--

Niall wakes up in a cold sweat, sheets sticking to his bare legs. He kicks them off with a humph, and lays on his back so he can count backwards from ten, like Bressie told him. It takes him five rounds, but with each one he can feel his pulse stabilizing and his mind numbing. Once he knows he’s finished he takes one giant breath, just to remind himself he can.

Lazy light trickles into the room, a reminder that he’s up even before the sun. It’s only been a few hours since he went to bed, but he feels high on alert, with a film of drowsy still stuck behind his eyes. His clock blinks out 6:15 to him, and it’s truly an ugly time to be awake, but he can’t help it. He rubs a hand over his eyes, pulls on a pair of pants, and strolls out to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

**

He gets the text at ten in the evening, when he’s already got his pajama briefs on and his only plans for the night are deciding between a beer and a wank. Maybe both. Probably both. So, he’s really not planning on going anywhere that requires putting on trousers.

_Impromptu jam sesh at the studio. Liam and Louis already here. Come join!!!!_

The text is from Julian, and he knows they’re planning on going out for lunch the next day and hitting the studio afterwards, but not tonight. Then, of course, Louis jumps in.

_get to the studio we’ve come bearing gifts_

_nialllllllll we need a guitar_

_nialllll we need an irishman_

_if you don’t come soon ill call your mum and  tell er youre furiously wanking again_

That’s enough to get him going.

He shows up at the studio not even forty minutes later, and he thanks god that he never drank that beer because Willie was locked up in his room with his girlfriend and Niall wasn’t going to interrupt that.

Stepping through the door, the smell of weed and take out hits him like a truck. Louis and Liam welcome him in from their loveseat throne, arms flailing out to hug him across the room. And Julian’s sat in front of him. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles.

“Said you needed a guitar?” Niall yells as he walks through the room. Something’s blaring through the speaker, something new that Louis and Liam have probably been working on. It’s upbeat and dancey and infinitely better than the singular song Niall’s got up his sleeve.

“Yeah, Niall!” Louis yells back around the spiff he’s stuck in his mouth, “Come play for us. I’ve got some tunes, you’ve got some fingers,”

“You’ve got some fingers, too,”

“Yeah, but they’re not as fucking sick as yours, so,”

Niall laughs and gets himself situated on the chair closest to them. He only realizes later, as he’s getting his guitar all set up, that it’s the same as the night before, and it feels just as good as he relaxes into it.

“Here, have a hit before we start,” Louis demands as he reaches out to Niall, the joint pressed delicately between two of his fingers.

“Nah, mate, I need both hands to play,”

“And you can’t spare a moment beforehand to smoke?”

“He said no!” Julian yells from across the room. Niall had thought he wasn’t even listening, still concentrated on a pre-chorus Liam had problems with before, “Don’t you British fuckers have D.A.R.E?”

“You mean Truth-And?” Louis answer, a shit-eating grin smacked across his face.

“Stop peer pressuring him before he decides to leave and we’re stuck without a guitarist,”

“Peer pressuring? I’m two years older,”

“Even worse. Niall, continue,” Julian continues, gesturing towards Niall's little setup so they can get the song rolling.

He nods and plays a few chords before letting Louis start his song. This one’s nothing like what he heard when he came in. It’s slow and languid, a downright kick in the groin a few times. Louis hums first so Niall can get down the bare bones of the song, what they’ll build the music on, and then starts with the lyrics.

They’re heartbreaking, sounding more like something Harry’d write after one of his infamous mopey writing sessions with heartfelt indie artists in LA. Of course, Louis’s been having a rough time as of late, and it’s all reflected in the downtrodden and angry mood that’s set all throughout. It’s so well done that Niall can’t even tell if it’s about Eleanor or... he decides not to ask.

Together they manage to get a good amount down on paper. Louis likes to think he’s not that great at the actual music, but this one is a homerun, for sure. It’s nothing like the shit Niall puts out: disjointed and messy. Louis’s actually got this down while Niall feels like he’s still studying.

The night ends with Liam leading Louis out to a car they’ve called, Liam blowing kisses and Louis without his shoes. Niall’s sure he’ll find them eventually. He decides to stick around for a little while longer because he’s already there and maybe the remnants of Louis’s foot odor will inspire him to write a little better.

“So since when don’t you smoke?” Julian says after returning from the bathroom. He smells all nice, like he put on lotion or cologne while he was in there.

Niall shrugs, “I don’t _not_ smoke, y’know. Just didn’t feel like it earlier,”

“Yeah, no big deal,” Julian says. His hair’s all nice and curly, and it looks soft and shiny in the low light of the den.

“But we still have one left, right?” Niall asks as he plucks out _You Are My Sunshine_.

Julian raises his eyebrows, “You wanna?”

“Yeah, why not. With Louis gone _I’ll_ get to be the annoying high one,”

“Ha, you have some tough competition there, kid,” But Julian grabs the last blunt and drops next to him on the couch, lighting it quickly and holding it out to Niall’s mouth, “You need both hands, right?”

Niall quirks a smile and opens his mouth so Julian’ll rest the blunt on his lips and he can inhale. Once he’s done Julian takes it back and pops it in his own mouth. He likes it more like this, when there’s less people and less noise and he less feels like everyone’s staring at him. Julian doesn’t bother him, just rests next to him and gets lit. It’s nice.

His fingers scramble over the strings as the spliff gets passed back and forth and soon enough he’s playing the one he’d shown Julian before, the dreamy one. Niall’s gonna call it Dreamy because it’s nowhere near having a real title. He’s only added on a few more seconds and fixed some of the more awkward notes of before.

“I really like your song, man,” Julian says as he stubs the remains of their joint in the ashtray that Louis had left there. It’s shaped like a turtle and Niall thinks it’s funny, even when he’s sober.

“Yeah?” Niall whispers, throat dry and scratchy.

“I can tell that you’re not sure of it for some reason, but you should be. It’s a solid start, man. I know it’s not a lot but everything starts somewhere,”

Niall drops his head to Julian’s shoulder and nods awkwardly against it. The next time around, as he finishes playing the fifteen seconds he’d had before, he starts just playing what feels right. It’s a bit wobbly and nowhere near perfect, but it actually sounds pretty good. And after he stumbles over a few last notes and lets the song sputter out, he rests his guitar in his lap and feels out his high.

“Bro, that was fucking sick,” Julian finally says as the world starts making sense again.

“It was okay,” Niall says flatly.

“No, I mean it. It was exactly what I was talking about before, all slow and low and, shit, fantastic. You have to start believing in your own mind, man,”

“Doesn’t matter, I have no idea what I just played. It just came out,”

“Lucky for you I’m not an idiot and I record all of our sessions,”

Niall picks up his head and turns to stare at Julian, “You have it?”

“I mean, yeah, I’d have to weed out all the other bullshit we did tonight and it’s probably horrible quality ‘cause we’re nowhere near the mics, but it’s there, yeah,”

Niall smiles, “Send it ‘round my way, will ya?”

“’Course,” Julian answers before he pats Niall on his knee and moves off towards the kitchen, “So you’re sleeping over?” he yells from back there.

“Am I?” Niall yells back.

“It’s half past three,”

Niall takes a peek at the clock and, damn, he’s right. He hadn’t even noticed, honest.

“And you drove here alone,” Julian continues, “And you’re high as fuck now, so,”

“Yeah, guess I’m sleeping over, then,”

There are, of course, other options, like a taxi or even calling Willie. But staying sounds nice, and Niall follows Julian up the stairs to a loft. It’s one of the nicest (and worst) things about this studio—they never have to leave. It’s nice for nights like this when a drive through lonely London streets sounds unnerving, but it’s bad for days when they feel cooped up, always stuck in the same recording booth.

Julian sends him off towards the loo, where he had free range to open any product or brush he likes. It’s not like either of them are paying. And once he’s done Julian takes his turn, and Niall is left to strip down to his pants and wait.

There’re two places to sleep, at least that Niall can see. One is the bed, of course, and the other’s a shady-looking futon that seems like it has seen better days. Niall’s still deciding which one sounds better when Julian runs out of the bathroom in his boxers, knocks Niall towards the bed, and says, “Come on, now, time to sleep,”

Niall fits into a spot next to Julian, drawing the duvet up around him until he’s completely covered. Julian turns out the light and Niall drifts aimlessly between lucidity and dreaming until he can’t tell the difference.

**

The sun’s been shining and the birds’ve been chirping for a few hours by the time Niall makes it back to his house. Per usual, Willie is sitting at the breakfast bar with a cuppa in his hand and a cold omelet left in the pan. He looks none too pleased.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he bites, “Fancy seein’ you here,”

“Yeah, yeah. Shoulda called, I know,”

Niall drops his guitar off in its spot and plates the food, half for him and half for Willie. It’s got cheese and onions and garlic—just like Niall likes. Willie’s too good for him.

“Yeah you should’ve called, or texted, or really anything! Went in to tell you the eggs were done and saw no Niall. Last I heard you were planning a pilsner and a pull last night. What happened?”

“Got called ‘round the studio, is all. Had to sleep over after. No big deal,”

Willie doesn’t even touch his eggs as Niall shovels them in.

“Okay,”

He just stares Niall down, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in that crazy little head of his. They both eat in silence, Niall getting up to make himself a coffee, but he turns on his heel before he can even get the grounds out.

“I know I’ve been weird, okay,” he says quickly to the top of Willie’s head, “It’s always an adjustment to come back home after a tour, and it was even more of an adjustment… now,”

Willie’s looking at him now like he wants to talk, about a lot of things, a lot of scary things. Niall hates that look.

“Just… give me time. I’ll be back to me ol’ self before you can even remember I was a bit off, yeah?”

“Well,” Willie sighs as he pushes his plate away, “Hurry up,”

**

The flight to LA is long and the air in LA is hot but it’s like a new beginning for the four of them. They pile together at Harry’s house, ‘round his pool with the salt water and the fancy loungers. It has a nice view and it’s comforting to feel like a band again. Niall understands, of course, that they all need their time alone, but to sit together as a cohesive unit is better.

There are bits and pieces of each member that help him feel better, always. Harry’s reassuring hugs, Louis’s witty chides, and Liam’s warm smile. They talk about complete shit as they lounge around and wade in the water, about Harry’s tormented love life (and Louis’s as well) and Liam’s perfect one and Niall’s foray into semi-professional caddying. They only make fun of his fall one or seventeen times. Niall relaxes back, applies another smattering of sun screen, and reaches up to take a selfie of the four of them.

**

“You’re looking fancy,” Julian says as he comes into view outside the venue.

Niall blushes and runs his fingers over the studded collar of his jacket.

“Thanks, I’ve come to be a bit of a fashion mogul if you haven’t noticed,”

“I’ve very much noticed you copying Harry’s style,”

He bumps into Julian as they walk in, he’ll get him back later for that, he will. They’ve got a long night ahead of them, and Niall doesn’t shut up at these things.

It’s a fancy award show and Niall loves them because he gets to schmooze and flirt with the greats of his favorite industry. He gets to talk about guitars when he wants, and he gets to talk about himself even more. He even grabs a video of the _Frozen_ musicians to send over to Marv and Roch for the little ‘un. It’s a grand night, really.

There’s never any secret to the madness of Niall here, not when he gets to be himself and not just part of One Direction. Whatever the people here have got in their minds they’re all professional and don’t try and dig into his life. No “So how’ve you been feeling since the… you know” or “Is it better with him gone?” Niall just gets to tell everyone that Rory’s arse is even perkier in person, and they’ll all laugh at his fall, too.

“You’re quite the man of the hour,” Julian says as he knocks into him at the bar. Julian’s already got a beer in one hand but he keeps trying to flag down the bartender.

“What do you mean?” Niall asks. His lips feel dry and he runs his tongue over them for just a second. He catches, just for a second, Julian's gaze slipping down just to see it.

“You know," Julian waves his hand around, not really meaning anything, "Out there chatting with everyone, sneaking out to say hello to the fans surrounding the building just for you. You didn’t even win anything but you’re prime real estate here,”

“You say some weird shit, do you know that?” Niall says with a laugh. Julian doesn’t respond, just finally gets the bloke’s attention and nabs himself two shots of Jameson.

**

They end the night as everyone leaves, huddled together at the side of the stairs as the party pours out of the building. Their car is on the way, and Julian slings an arm over Niall’s shoulder like it’s so simple, like it’s just that easy.

“Where you heading off to?” Julian says, almost whispers even though the room is loud and they should be screaming.

Niall shakes his head, “Nowhere,”

“Oh, nowhere? No big party you got invited to, nothing?”

That’s another no.

“Wanna come back to my place, then?”

Niall knows Julian lives off in the Hills, in a small bungalow that Harry’s towering villa puts to shame but was probably expensive all the same. He’s seen it a few times, usually as part of recording or with the other lads. It’s just him this time, though.

“What? You having a party and didn’t tell me?” Niall asks.

Julian shakes his head and his curls go with it. “Nope. I was planning to just fuck around until bed. Now we can fuck around together, if you want,”

There aren’t any other plans on his horizon, and Niall says yes before even thinking about it.

**

Julian’s house is set away on a quiet road in an expensive neighborhood. They ride there together in silence, the effect of that last round of shots and a full evening of busybodies. Niall pays the cabbie and follows Julian into his home, lights being turned on one by one as they go through the house.

It’s warm and comforting, and Niall guesses that’s why he prefers the days they get to spend here over those they spend cooped up in the studio. Julian’s always been a big proponent of makeshift studios: his living room, hotel bedrooms, the backs of buses. And it took a while for Niall to get used to it, but it’s soothing to know that all of Julian’s artists don’t get this treatment. Most of them are his normal customers, stuck in a recording booth on Sunset where the AC is too high and the crowds pass by in a sickening amount. Here, amongst the locals and with pictures of Julian’s family on the wall, it’s like a part of him that doesn’t have to be so productive and business-like. It’s the Julian that only belongs to him- them.

Niall follows him back into the kitchen, where Julian’s already gotten out some glasses to fill with water. He hadn’t even realized it, but Niall’s mouth is so dry he can barely swallow and his head is lightly swimming, his fingers light and tingly and his stomach weighed down by too much to drink. He gulps down the water as soon as Julian hands it over, and Julian just laughs. But just there, on the fridge, is something Niall never thought he’d see again.

“You still have my Christmas card up?” he yells once his voice starts working again.

“What?” Julian says, as if having a Christmas card up in April is normal, “How many times can you say you’ve got a Christmas card of one of the world’s richest people pissing off a boat wearing a sunhat? You’ve got to cherish these moments when you’ve got them,”

Niall laughs and pushes at Julian’s chest, “Hasn’t anyone thought it weird?”

“People don’t come around that often, and those who do don’t go poking around my fridge, thanks,”

Julian grabs the empty glass out of Niall’s hand and puts them both in the washer, pulling out a box of something from a lower cabinet.

“Louis left behind a gift last time he was here, you wanna?”

He’s gesturing to the box and Niall takes a few seconds to realize what he’s talking about. It doesn’t fully hit him until Julian makes an ‘o’ with his mouth and blows out.

“Okay, yeah,” Niall says, and then after a moment, “Is there a reason that you’re always trying to get me high?”

“Hey,” Julian makes a face, “I always give you a choice. We don’t have to,”

“No, yeah, I know. It was just-”

“Go sit down, man." Julian says, pushing Niall back towards the door, "I’ll get everything ready,”

Niall nods and heads back to the den, face-planting onto the sofa the moment he sees it. He’s mostly sober, now, and the thought of a good smoke sounds kinda nice, really. This thing of doing it with people that aren’t Louis or other members of the band is kinda new, though. Not that Julian’s never been there, he is quite a lot, really. But that’s the thing, usually there are a good amount of people there. Enough to make it feel like a party or jam session. With just the two of them, Niall barely knows how to describe it. It’s just nice.

Julian nudges Niall’s arm with his hip, and that’s his cue to sit up. He rubs his hands over his eyes as Julian plops down next to him. When he opens his eyes, Julian’s just staring at him all dumbly.

“What? Something on my face?” he asks.

“No. If you’re tired we don’t have to-”

“Shut up, I’m twenty-one years old I can stay up past one. This is like a nightcap, yeah,”

Julian snorts, “That’s a drink, but okay,”

He lights up the blunt and Niall closes his eyes and relaxes back into the cushions. He can hear Julian taking a few hits before he feels the end of the blunt at his lips. When he opens his eyes, Julian’s smirking over at him.

“Ta, but I think I can use both of my hands tonight,”

“Nah, bro, let me,” Julian says. And usually Niall would protest, because he’s a big boy and he can hold his own spliff, but it’s a nice night and Julian’s being generous and there’s no reason he shouldn’t accept it.

“Just the two of us. Just us boys,” Niall says, off-handedly. It sounds stupid as soon as he says it, but not to Julian.

“Boys with an ‘i’. Bois,” he says, as if you can hear the spelling change. And Niall kinda can, if he squints.

“Yeah, with an i,” Niall repeats.

They pass the blunt back and forth a few times, and even without opening his eyes Niall can tell it’s burning down to its last bits. The night overwhelms him and he drops his head to rest on Julian’s shoulder. And he’s so clocked out to the rest of the world, so zeroed on to this moment (the feel of the fabric of Julian’s shirt against his cheek, the smell of his cologne mixed with weed, the faint sound of a ceiling fan whirring in the background) he barely even registers Julian’s hand coming up to cup his face, blunt lost to an ash tray. And he doesn’t even mind when Julian leans over and presses their lips together, as if that’s just part of the scene.

His eyes shoot open when they pull apart—they’d only kissed for a couple of seconds, Niall realizes late—and Julian’s looking at him like he’s a mystery and a treasure all rolled into one.

“I’m sorry I-” Julian stutters out, but Niall cuts him off, because there’s nothing for Julian to apologize for. Niall wants this all. He likes to be alone with him, he likes to sit all pressed together like they couldn’t be pulled apart, and he likes to kiss. He wants to kiss. He wants to kiss Julian.

“Don’t,” he says, so short and soft, before reaching around to the grab the back of Julian’s head and reel him back in.

It shouldn’t surprise Niall that kissing Julian is nice. Julian’s a fit guy, with nice hair and big hands, and Niall’s seen him kiss. Seen him kiss girls. He looked pretty good at it, and Niall knows that from an objective viewpoint. But it’s still surprising, is the thing.

He’s not used to kissing spontaneously, kissing friends. He’s not even used to kissing high, but he remembers how much he likes it. There’s a little something extra to everything. An extra push behind his tongue, an extra tingle on his lips, an extra shiver up his spine. Niall can’t even tell if it’s him or Julian that’s leading him backwards until his head hits the armrest and Julian’s hovering over him. His legs spread open of their own accord, giving room for Julian to just slot into them, and then the whole world stops.

Julian stares at him, “You good,”

“I am?” Niall asks, a little lost.

“It was a question,” Julian says, and then laughs right into the crook of Niall’s shoulder. And, oh yeah, this isn’t a thing they do normally. And some people might have objections to suddenly snogging their friends, and they might want to establish rules or guidelines or limits or something. But snogs don’t usually come with contracts, and Niall wants to keep it that way.

“Just… go ahead,” Niall says back, and there’s a smile on his lips and it feels light in his head but the word come out tight and strangled. They’re halfway to somewhere new and Niall wants to get there soon.

Julian doesn’t say anything more and just leans in, opening up Niall's mouth so easily. And Niall is so taken by the slide of their lips together, the hint of tongue, that he barely registers Julian’s hands at his shirt buttons, undoing them one by one. When he does, when he can feel the air hit his chest and can feel the last of his shirt held together by his belt, he breathes out into the warm of Julian’s mouth because he _wants_.

“Okay,” Julian says, and Niall still can’t tell if it’s a statement or a question but he nods and moans to get across the idea that he likes it. All of it. Every single part of it.

Julian doesn’t get back to snogging, even though Niall searches him out with his lips, and instead refocuses himself on kissing down Niall’s body. Down his neck, over his shoulders, down to his chest, where Julian stops at the hard nub of his nipple and sucks it in. Niall’s hands shoot up to cradle Julian’s head at the first touch. Julian raises his head and quirks an eyebrow, and Niall finally knows what he means.

“God’s sake, man, don’t stop doing it,” he huffs out, following it with a grin that mimics Julian’s.

He gets back to what he was doing, lapping over Niall’s nipple and sucking it into his mouth, pulling it between his teeth until Niall has to suck in a breath to keep himself from gasping.

It’s not like Niall’s never thought about his nipples before, whether when he was rubbing over a girl’s chest and making her gasp like he is now, or when Louis sometimes pulls at his during concerts and it makes Niall question everything he’s ever felt. But now that someone’s actually put into motion what was once only an idea in his mind, Niall can barely contain himself. He wants more, he wants everything, and he nearly dies when Julian switches to the other side of his chest. With strong and steady confidence, Julian diverts his attention to the other one, bringing his hand up to rub against the one he just left.

Niall’s not new to getting turned on, not even new to being turned on _and high_ , but his head feels just shy of splitting open with how much he loves this. And he makes sure to let Julian know, telling him “Fuck yeah” and “Keep going” between unintelligible outbursts of cursing. Niall doesn’t even care that he’s sounding so fucking wrecked, that he’s so loud that he’s sure if Julian’s neighbors were just a centimeter closer they could hear how bad Niall wants it.

“Okay,” he finally says, following it with a cough. Julian looks up at him, his mouth shiny and wet from kissing and licking and god knows what else. He quirks an eyebrow and Niall’s just about to tell him to get back to it when Julian lifts his head back up and kisses him good. His high’s staring to wear off but it just all feels good, and he tangles his hands into Julian’s hair to hold him close and keep him exactly where he wants him.

“I want to taste you,” Julian says as he pulls away, panting hot and quick against Niall’s ear.

“Didn’t you just-” Niall starts, before Julian’s interrupting him by cackling and pressing his laugh right into Niall’s cheek.

“I mean suck you off, babe,”

“Oh,” Niall says, and he still feels the lingering haze of the weed making everything in his mind work too slow, “And you can just do that?”

Julian purses his lips, “Do what?”

“Do that… like I’m a guy,”

“In case you haven’t noticed from the half hour of me making out with you and fucking playing with your nips, I’m quite alright with dudes,”

“Fuck,” Niall whispers, because he’s daft and turned on, “Yeah, that sounds great, man,”

Julian allows himself a moment to laugh before he’s crawling down Niall’s body again, pressing kisses and open-mouthed moans against inch by inch of skin. Each point of contact sends Niall buzzing through his skin and through his mind. He’s so out of it, so tuned into the rough feel of Julian’s lips pressed up against every sensitive part of his stomach, that he barely registers Julian at his flies. And once he does, his hands work faster than his brain and his hands fly up to hide the bulge in his pants that’s threatening to out all his secrets.

“Bro, I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’ve already seen your dick,” Julian reminds him, “No need to be shy,”

And, okay, that sounds reasonable. Niall knocks his own hands away and lets Julian pull down his trousers and pants, his dick popping out like it’s so happy to see Julian’s mouth in such close proximity. Just to be thorough, Niall wrestles off his shirt because the harsh of the fabric against his skin is threatening to distract him.

“There we go,” Julian says as he grabs Niall’s dick with his big hand and starts jacking him slowly, helping him fill up, “Such a perfect little cock. Pink and soft, just waiting for me,”

Niall wants to think about someone thinking about his cock, but before he can even get a word in Julian sucks the tip in. Niall’s head rolls back and it hits the arm of the sofa, but he barely even acknowledges the thump against his noggin. Julian just feels _good_ , the warmth of his mouth and the slight flutter of his tongue as he takes more and more of Niall into his mouth. He pops up again, a slightly wet ‘pop’ of his mouth as he grins up at Niall’s face. Niall’s grinning too; he hadn’t even noticed.

“Just us boys,” Niall repeats from earlier, and Julian has to stop himself from hovering over Niall’s dick to laugh into the crease of his thigh.

“You’ve got to stop making me laugh when I’m trying to do something sexy for you,” he says, still laughing through every syllable.

“Okay, I’ll try,” Niall reassures him, then watches Julian’s mouth descend on him once again.

He tries to distract himself from it, but Niall’s mind keeps jumping to how it’s different with Julian—with a guy. His hands are big and they cup both of Niall’s balls in one go, and the slick of his mouth is so different from the rough stubble that brushes against his thighs when he leans too far to one side. Julian’s not a girl, and Niall doesn’t want him to be one.

Julian’s eyes are a warm green as they look up into Niall’s, like the wild grass of Ireland or dewy moss. And they search out for something on Niall’s face, like a flicker of doubt or pain or something. Maybe Niall could be better at voicing how totally fucking into this he is, since all he’s been doing since getting his dick out is make these soft little pathetic whines, like he doesn’t even have the mind to do anything more. He barely does, really, but he finds it in himself to bend his legs and flex his toes and grab onto a fistful of Julian’s long hair.

With his hands occupied, and not stuck balled in fists at his side like this whole blowie business is grating on him, he can feel the gentle rise and fall of Julian’s head. And, damn, Julian’s fucking great at this. His mouth is huge and, coupled with his hands, it’s no hard business to get all of Niall’s dick wet and sensitive. He takes a break for his throat and shuffles back, leaning down to suck Niall’s balls into his mouth.

It’s a lot to handle on a normal day. Julian’s sweet, soft mouth and his big, sturdy hands taking care of Niall in every possible way. But Niall’s horny and high and little bit tired, and he feels overwhelmed with something as simple as an A+ blowjob. Julian leans up to take him back in, reaching a hand up to squeeze at Niall’s hip, the gentle hint of extra weight and muscle there. It snaps him back to reality, the reality that he’s about to fucking come.

“Fuck!” Niall yells, his body straightening out without intention, “Jesus, fuck, Julian, I- I- I-”

His stammering isn’t helpful but Julian gets it anyways. He speeds up his hand on Niall’s dick, opens his mouth, and doesn’t look the least bit surprised when Niall starts coming in spurts against his tongue.

Orgasms for Niall are usually the normal deal, with panting and grunts and stuttering. But this one’s better, and stronger and faster and everything you could ever add –er to. His breath tightens and he can feel his stomach spasm with every new shot of cum from the tip of his dick. He can feel Julian’s hand move with it, the gentle movement of Julian just resting his hand there to feel how Niall can react, nothing more.

When he’s finally done, and Julian’s finished licking the excess cum off of Niall’s dick to the point where Niall feels like kicking out and kicking Julian off the sofa, they both relax and separate. Julian wipes off his mouth, shiny and wet from the spit and (probably a little bit) the cum. He looks just as wrecked as Niall, even though he’s still got his trousers on.

Fuck. He’s still got his trousers on.

“You didn’t have to ignore yourself,” Niall says with his remaining strength. He’s tired as hell but he’s not just gonna leave someone hanging like this.

Julian reaches down to unfasten his flies, and there pops out his dick. It looks so red, so eager to come. Niall just imagines how few strokes it’d take to undo him, right then and there. He wants to get his hands on him so bad, but Julian has another plan. A better plan. Julian’s smart.

“I’ll wipe you off upstairs if you let me come on you,” Julian says, as if each word wasn't layered with filth.

“Fuck, yeah,” Niall says, and he’s happy he’s so into it considering it really only takes a few tugs for Julian to start coming over his thighs and his stomach, where Julian had just held him down. It still feels like him, too, there on his skin where the heat and print of Julian’s hand is still settled into his skin. Now Julian’s cum is there, too, marking him even further.

Julian collapses onto the back of his sofa, only supporting himself with the feeble strength of what he’s gathered from his arms. He peeks out from underneath a small veil of his hair to smile at Niall, toothy and silly and undeniably what Niall wants.

“You just blew my mind,” Niall says. It makes Julian shake with laughter, as he finds whatever Niall just said to be the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“I’m glad I can be of such good humor for you, but I’d appreciate that wipedown now, if you please,”

“’Course, yeah,” Julian says back, playfully slapping Niall’s thigh and reaching out for Niall to hold his hand. He pulls Niall up off the couch, stepping out of his own clothes as they head for the bathroom. Julian tucks him up into bed after he’s done, following him in under the covers, and Niall doesn’t even have time to reflect or want anything more before he’s closing his eyes and gone.

**

It’s a good concert, Niall can feel it. The crowd’s going absolutely mental, singing along to every song as if their lives depend on it. They’re energetic, loud, and best of all _supportive_. Niall can just tell, through everything they’re giving, that they love the four of them for what they are. They don’t look on stage and expect five people to come out, and they don’t stare Niall down with accusing eyes when Niall starts in on a line he’s never sung live before. They’re perfect.

Niall looks behind himself to find the rest of his band, smiles burned onto their faces as they see the crowd for what it is, too. It’s hope and kindness and support all mixed into one, etched onto their signs and radiating from their looks of adoration. Niall could stand here all day, bathing in the glory of doing what he loves for people who appreciate it.

And then, there it is, out of the corner of his eyes he sees something different. Where Liam once stood is now an empty corner, and there’s no tell-tale sign of his boots or his hat or his shirt anywhere. Liam’s gone.

“Hey, where did Liam go?” Niall yells to Louis, but Louis makes no effort to act like he’s heard. He’s not that far away, definitely close enough to notice that Niall’s trying to get his attention. Why is he ignoring him?

Niall turns back to the audience to see if they’ve noticed. Usually they’re smart and quick and they’ll point out any discrepancies in their show as soon as it happens, but they act as if Liam wasn’t there all along. Niall moves to turn back to try and maybe get someone else’s attention, but Louis’s gone and Harry’s at the other end of the stage before, there, he’s gone, as well. He was there, _just there_ , merely seconds before. There’s no way, it’s not feasible.

There, too, go Sandy, then Josh’s drum set, the big screen, even Niall’s own guitar leaves without so much as a _pop_ to let him know it’s gone. Every time he averts his attention something new is gone, until it’s just Niall on stage.

He turns back to the audience, hoping they’d at least freak out, but they scream for him as if they’ve no care for what changes. Until they, too, start to disappear. Starting at the tippy-top of the stadium, one-by-one they are erased from view like an avalanche speeding towards the stage. He cowers from it, averting his eyes until he feels the ground move from his feet and he drops a couple of meters to the hard ground below. He opens his eyes to find nothing, save himself and a distant horizon that seems unreachable.

**

Niall wakes to a gasp of stale air. His hand is curled into a fist that’s settled at the small of Julian’s back, and he wonders if he’s gotten a little more violent in his sleep lately. It’s hard to tell when you’ve been sleeping alone. It’s still pretty early, and even through Julian’s curtains he can tell a new day’s only just starting. There’s still time to get out before Julian wakes, or at least get redressed and make himself a toastie. He’s just wondering how to best get out of bed without jostling the mattress too much when Julian yawns, stretches his arms out above him, and rolls over to face Niall. There’s still a bit of sleep left in his voice and a bit of slowness left in his movements, but he smiles at Niall and it seems so genuine. He hitches a leg around Niall’s waist and nuzzles into the side of his face.

“You’re a painful bed buddy, you know that?”

“Am I?” Niall says back.

Julian smiles, “Nearly kicked my calf off around four,”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Had a string of nightmares last night. Probably the smoking, yeah?”

“Nightmares?” Julian raises his eyebrows and Niall nods, “About what?”

“You know, pants off in front of the class and everything,” Niall lies, “Nothing too horrid,”

“Good,” Julian says, then hugs Niall closer. It’s a good way to wake up, really, with someone cuddling you and the room’s all nice and warm. Niall thinks he’s this close to falling asleep again when Julian speaks up.

“So we should talk,”

Niall winces, “Fuck, do we have to?”

“Yes. Question one-”

“There’s _more than one_?”

“Are you alright with what happened last night?” Julian asks, straight to the point.

“Fuck, Julian, it’s not that important,”

“It _really_ is because you were high and we’d never done that before so I need to make sure you aren’t, like, regretting it or feeling taken advantage of,”

“I was _buzzed_ and I’ve never had a blowjob that I’ve regretted,”

“That segues nicely into number two: Have you ever done anything with a guy before?” Julian asks. His face is stern and there isn't any bit of a joke in his question.

Niall supposes it’s not like he’s never thought about it, or gotten flirty with a guy at a party and thought of what they could do if Niall was a little braver or less famous. But.

“No. That was a first,” he admits.

“And what are your thoughts on that?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t really have a thought. It was just nice! A good ol’ orgasm at the hands of someone with _bigger_ hands and, like, a beard. So, yeah, it was different but I don’t want to like… freak out about it,”

“Okay, fair point. Last question, and it’s a biggy,”

“Jesus Christ,”

“Are you up for more?”

“Like, as in-”

Niall doesn’t have to fill in that blank as Julian trails a hand down his chest, skimming over his stomach, before landing at the little patch of hair under his navel. He rubs a thumb in a circle and it tickles and excites him in equal amounts.

“Yeah, fuck, go,”

Julian grins and slides his hand down until its brushes against Niall’s dick. He laughs when Niall’s hisses and starts stroking slowly. It’s still soft, but plumps nicely in Julian’s hand.

“I never got to finish telling you how pretty of a dick you’ve got,” Julian whispers. Niall’s cheek blush at the thought of Julian thinking it last night, and then remembering it in the morning again.

“Feels so nice in my hand,” he continues, “Just the perfect size,”

Niall can’t help it, then, and he grabs Julian around the back of his neck and pulls their mouths together. Both of their breaths have gone stale and a bit gross, but Niall knows he’s done worse, and it helps with the dirty feeling of it all. Usually Niall likes to plan these things out and brush his teeth and grab the lube for the handjob, but with Julian taking control and throwing all of Niall’s ideas out the window all he can do is lay back and enjoy what he’s getting.

He has to take a take a second, though, when Julian’s fingers stray down to the sensitive skin under his balls.

“Oh, fuck,” Niall says before closing his eyes. He’s never entertained the thought of that, but now he can’t stop thinking about Julian’s fingers lingering even lower. The dirty, sensitive thought of getting fucked.

“Can I?” Julian asks lowly.

Niall nods before he can stop himself.

Julian starts slow, just rubbing his fingers over the tight pucker of Niall’s arse. He hints at wanting to open Niall up, with the dull press of a thumb against his rim, but Julian doesn’t do much more than make Niall squirm. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch, and he nearly gasps in relief when Julian leans in to his ear and whispers, “The lube’s in your drawer,”

Niall leans over, accidentally trapping Julian’s hand between his legs, and searches around in the mess of Julian’s bedside chest for the bottle. When he finally finds it he sighs and throws it back. The feeling of a finger spreading the cleft of his arse is enough to get his knees scrambling on the sheets as he fits back into his spot on the bed.

“You’re gonna have to spread your legs more,” Julian instructs as he slicks his fingers up, “And you’ve never done this?”

“No,” Niall says back, and it’s easy to admit this all with Julian, “But I’ve gathered that it’ll feel a bit mad, and then fucking amazing,”

Julian grins. “That’s the spirit,”

He leans in close to Niall and urges him to relax as he pushes in. It’s a lot to get used to at first, since Niall’s never done _anything_ like it, but he just pulls back his knees and focuses on Julian nipping at the skin at the side of his neck. He barely even knows how long they’ve been at it when there’s a second slick finger pushed up against the first.

“You’re taking this _so_ well,” Julian whispers, almost beaming with pride. It lights something up in Niall, makes a shiver run down his spine. He _likes_ pleasing people, even if they’re just making him feel good.

Julian starts picking up his pace without warning, jacking quickly into Niall’s arse. He spreads his fingers and Niall can feel the stretch and burn. Before he can decide if he likes it, there’s an intense warmth and pleasure that radiates through all of his body. He feels alive and burning all at once, and it’s incredibly all too much and perfect.

“Holy holy holy shit!” he screams, his voice buckling under the tension it holds, “That’s, fuck, Julian,” His voices trembles as a series of whines trickle out his mouth. Usually he only gets like this when he comes, but it feels too good now to ignore. He doesn’t care about how ugly it sounds to keep babbling, how it could be loud or annoying. It just explains how he feels—absolutely out of his mind.

He can feel a grin form against his face, and he knows that even though Julian’s dick hasn’t gotten touched once yet this morning, that’s he’s getting just as much out of this as Niall is. And he’s positive about it when Julian shifts and Niall can feel the hard press of his dick against his side.

“I wanna see you,” Julian says, so suddenly that Niall whips his face around to stare him down. He’s biting his lip and his eyes look half glassed-over. Niall could never deny him like this.

“If you wanna,” Niall says back as Julian’s fingers slip out of him. It feels wrong for them to be gone, like getting fucked is truly where he should be.

Julian rearranges himself on the bed, gets between Niall’s legs and slicks his fingers back up. When they stroke softly at his rim, Niall happily relaxes and lets them back in. Once Julian’s fucking into him again, grazing over his prostate so that he won’t stop feeling electrified, he sighs and closes his eyes. His head hits the pillow and it feels like he could lay here forever.

“Look at you,” Julian says after a moment. Niall reopens his eyes to find Julian staring at his hole, where his fingers disappear into him. He moves to brush against Niall’s knee and open him up more. Niall can take it. He hitches his hands under his knees and pulls them up to his chest, like he’s in fucking physio or something, and opens up even more for Julian. He’s never thought he’d be seen like this, more spread open than he’s ever even seen a girl.

“You’re a fucking sight to see, babe. All blush and goosebumps and easy fucking. So fucking happy and eager just to lay back and get opened. Wish I could see something so pretty every day,”

Niall doesn’t have the words to describe how he feels, and even if he did he doesn’t know if he could get them out. But he feels absolutely laid bare and taken care of all at once, and it drives him crazy that he’s never once felt this way during sex.

“I knew you’d love to get fucked,” Julian starts again, “Just could fucking tell,”

Niall decides to not linger on how Julian could when Niall himself couldn’t even tell himself, but there’s a burning desire building through him to cum, and he listens to it. He reaches down to stroke himself so easily, only a little bit of burn from the lack of slick, and he comes easily over his stomach as Julian continues to jack into him. When he starts to feel too much (too warm, too sharp, too sensitive) Julian pulls out his fingers and wipes them through the puddle of cum on Niall’s stomach. Niall’s muscles twitch from the attention, but all he can do is smile. When he looks back up, Julian’s smiling, too.

“Jesus,” he says, following it with a sigh and a laugh, “You’re a fun one in bed, aren’t you?”

**

The easy rolling hills of The Grove are an instant source of relaxation for Niall. On a good day, like this one, he can shoot a few above-average holes, talk some shit with whoever his partner is for the day, and soak up the bright sun and the brilliant skies all without being hassled by crowds or paps. Today’s partner is Willie and today’s sun is blinding and warm. Niall can feel the freckles on his nose popping with each passing hole, and he’s never felt happier in his life, he’s sure of it. It’s a good day for golf, and a good day to talk.

“So LA was good?” Willie asks after they’ve parked their cart in the shade and let themselves enjoy a bit of a pint they’ve snuck onto the course. Niall can still feel the jetlag behind his eyes, and he’s barely gotten a moment alone with Willie to recount all of his Californian adventures.

“Yeah, was amazing,” he starts, then ends. He knows it’s too few words for how long he spent out there, and Willie notices.

“Sure sounds like it,” he snorts.

“It was!” Niall yells between sips, “You know I love it out there,”

“Well, you’re not quite convincing. Where’d you go? What did you do? _Who_ did you do?”

“Ha ha, very funny,”

Niall pretends to laugh, but it sputters out when he starts to think. If there’s anyone in the world he can trust, it’s Willie. Willie who is smart and kind and fun, who rarely has a bad thing to say about anyone, and when he does it’s usually for good reason. They’re cousins first and roommates somewhere along the way but best friends most importantly. So he edges closer to Willie’s side, takes a deep breath, and starts.

“I hooked up with someone,”

“Did you, you dog?” he says with a laugh, “Who was she? What was she like?”

Niall gulps and chooses his words carefully, “He’s a friend,”

There’s a beat of silence, and Niall wishes he was brave enough to peek a look at Willie’s face and try to read him.

“Do I know him?” he says, finally. Niall breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Yeah. It’s, um, I don’t know if you’ve met him. But I talk about him a good bit, because he’s a nice guy and we do a lot with him. His name’s Julian, if you remember,”

Willie’s hand finds its way to his shoulder, “Of course I remember Julian. You always seem to come back from your sessions with him with such a big smile on your face,”

Niall sighs, “I just thought you should know, is all,”

“Well, is he the reason you… you know? Have been feeling _down_?”

“No!” Niall yells, because he can already hear the worry creeping into Willie’s tone, “It’s just… that was the first time. Nothing before that. This is new,”

“A good new?”

Niall smiles, “It was just a one-time thing. So it was great, just don’t expect too much out of it,”

“So it has nothing to do with-”

“If anything,” he interrupts, “I’ve felt better because of it. It’s nice to know there’s someone who wants you, and you want them back. And, fuck, orgasms are great no matter who they come from,”

“Did you want to talk about it?” Willie asks. And that’s so Willie—wanting to talk and analyze.

“No. I just wanted to tell you. You usually like to know all the dirty parts of my life,”

“Just because you tell me doesn’t mean I ask,”

“Well, something like this is a big change, you know? And it’d feel weird to keep you out of the loop,”

There’s another silence and Niall braces himself for a _talk_. He supposes there are some things to think through, if not because of the not-straight implication then certainly because of the sleeping with a friend one. And he supposes it’d be good to talk about them, just probably not now.

“I’m glad you told me,” Willie says, and when Niall turns his face Willie is staring right at him, “And I’m glad to listen to anything else, too,”

He bumps Niall’s shoulder and downs his beer in one go. And when they start moving through the course again, Niall doesn’t feel as if he has to walk on eggshells or ignore any elephants. Willie is as easy and carefree as ever, and is happily eager to let Niall simmer on any words caught in the back of his throat.


	2. The Start

Cardiff sneaks up on Niall and he’s left standing in a Welsh dressing room before he knows it. There are racks of clothes around him but he’s already found what he wants to wear. It’s a simple white henley, and if he pulls it tight around his middle he can make out the oddities across his skin. There’s a brush of hair along the bottom, an odd freckle stuck by his rib, a little birthmark at his hip that Louis’s been dying to ink up. Something like a four-leaf clover or the word _craic_ in all capital letters, bolded and everything.

There’s a lot riding on Cardiff, is the thing, and he feels queasy with it. They’ve done shows as a four-piece before, however begrudgingly, but it’s different when there’s solid knowledge that this is their band now. The media has been reconstructed. Their songs have been rearranged. Now during What Makes You Beautiful they stand as a unit together, instead of a pyramid of troublemakers that Harry tries his hardest to ignore. They’ve changed, but it still feels incomplete.

Just as Niall starts to clear his head Harry bursts through the door in a fit of skin-tight denim and a wash-soft sweater. He spots Niall, standing by his lonesome with his fingers tucked into his mouth, and stomps over in his clunky boots just to throw his arms around Niall’s solid frame. Niall untangles his arms from Harry’s ironclad grasp and winds them around the tense line of Harry’s back. They stand like this for a minute, the sounds of the rest of the crew filtering in from their busy schedules in the hall. He expects Harry to stop, or pull away, or even give an explanation. Instead, he buries his face into the crook of Niall’s neck, breathes deep, and strengthens his hold on Niall’s shoulders.

“Hey, Harry,” Niall says with a whisper, almost scared of spooking him. But Harry doesn’t seem tense or even upset. Really, he seems relaxed.

“Hey,” Harry says back, “Sorry if I scared you,”

“You didn’t,”

“Sometimes I just really need a hug,” Harry starts rocking them, “And sometimes I just really need one from you,”

He’s answering a question Niall didn’t even ask, and instead of probing further or doing the smart thing and taking a step back, Niall just starts rubbing his hand in circles on Harry’s back. He smells different, not like the cinnamon sugar scent he’s had recently.

“Is that lavender?” he asks.                                 

“Yeah, a new candle. Supposed to be relaxing and all; I could get you one if you like,”

Niall tries to shrug within his constraints, “I could buy one myself,”

“But then it wouldn’t be the right one, and our lavender candle smells would clash. Who wants inharmonious floral scents, you know? It’d be embarrassing,”

He can feel Harry’s smile molded into the side of his neck, and grins at how easy it feels to joke with him about candles, out of everything.

“So I’m guessing you already bought me one,”

“It’s at my place. I’ll bring it tomorrow, yeah?”

“Okay,” Niall says back, snuggling closer into the soft touch of Harry’s shirt.

He gets an image stuck in his brain, of Harry in a small boutique in Los Angeles with a fit model by his side. And they’re together by the wall of candles, ignoring the body scrubs and bath bombs littered through the rest of the store. Harry’s hands are still shaky from a memory or a dream that’s recently plagued his restless mind, and his hands fall over a sign that reads _To Relax_. The candle smells of rolling hills of wonder in France, of laying silently over a smooth bed, and the laundry detergent that Niall uses. The girl wrinkles her nose when Harry brings it up for her to smell, tells him that “it’s too flowery, too overstated, I need something classic”. She moves off to a sign that reads _To Spice Things Up_ and sniffs something that oddly smells of paprika. Harry knows; he picked it up five minutes ago. But his fingers linger over the faintly purple candles, three wicks each, and bundles two up in his arms. One to take, one to give.

“I bought it in Cheshire,” Harry says after Niall’s been quiet for too long, “My mum took me out shopping for an hour or so, because she said it reminded her of when I was little and she’d drag me into town for errands. She said I was the same because I still have no attention span and I get lost too easily. Even if I’ve gained a few feet and it’s easier to spot me between the racks,”

“Anne’s always had her hands full with you,”

“She dropped me in the candle aisle because she knew I’d stay put,”

“And you bought…”

“Only five. I couldn’t exactly fit more in my luggage, now could I?”

Niall can’t see Harry’s face, only the back of his hair and his broad shoulders by the mirror, but he can tell that his smile’s little and shy. He knows that there’s a flush spreading across his cheeks, through his dimple, because this is how he gets when he flirts.

“I expect it on my doorstep tomorrow morning,”

His arms are getting sore, and he fears that if they stay like this any longer they might fuse into one person, or permanently get stuck that way like his mum used to warn him. But that’d be dumb, because the longer he holds on to Harry the more he feels like everything’s going to be alright, even if there are parts of Niall’s brain that are screaming that they’re _not_. Harry’s steady breaths in his ear sound like a promise, and the tight hold he has feel like a security blanket Niall’s not ready to lose.

**

Oslo’s fucking insane. Their people are outrageously good-looking, their weather is stupidly cold, and it’s bloody bright out considering it’s past midnight. The entire city absolutely turns Niall on his head, and he loves it. They’ve always had a good time here, whether with their thrumming crowds or their larger-than-life scenery. It holds a special place in Niall’s heart, along with every other city they’ve been in for three days over the past four years.

He takes his time getting to Louis’s room. He had called for a band meeting in there, and Niall guesses from the choice of emojis (the pair of eyes, the see-no-evil monkey, the pair of glasses clinking together, and the cigarette) that it’s not going to be very serious. The voices from inside are already screaming and Niall’s counting down the seconds until the front desk calls them to knock it off. He hasn’t even entered the room yet, Christ.

“There you are!” Louis yells from his spot in front of the controls, “Took you long enough!”

“Yes, excuse my hygiene habits, will ya?” he mumbles as John lets him in.

Harry’s stuck in the recording booth made out of mattresses along the wall, only in a pair of pants and socks. He looks good held back in the shadows, the little light he’s got dancing over the glint of his skin. Niall pulls his eyes away before he gets in trouble.

Liam’s over by Louis, an inconspicuous brownie held in his mouth. He waves at Niall and gets back to strumming something on the guitar. It’s out of tune but Niall won’t tell him; he’s still learning, he’ll get it soon enough.

And then there’s John, Basil, even Lou’s managed to make it, and-

Niall gulps as his eyes fall over the bed and Julian’s lying there, his hair stuck up in a bun with his laptop laying on his chest. He’s got earphones in so he probably hadn’t even noticed Niall enter, but once he tears his eyes away from the screen he looks straight at Niall standing by the door. Without missing a beat he smiles and nods. Niall freezes.

“So we’ve gathered you here today because you’re the best at pre-choruses and Harry’s stuck,” John says, “Help us out, bro?”

“Okay, sure,” Niall says, his voice tight and dry.

The room’s packed and there’s slim pickings on where he can sit. So he chooses the foot of the bed, right next to Julian, just because it’s the first spot available and it’s close to Harry. This is just business; it’s nothing he hasn’t done before.

Harry’s pre-chorus is fucking fine, of course. Niall barely needs to add anything to it, an added syllable and a spot where they can better layer their voices, and then Harry’s out of the booth. They called him in for a five minute advice session, and he wonders if he can leave already.

It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, really, but there’s a giant fucking elephant in the room and Niall’s stupidly trying to share a bed with it. Julian hasn’t said a thing all night, stuck into his own zone as he works on a song by himself, but there’s a lot of questions left unsaid from the last time they were together. It seems so long ago, weeks stacking up to feel like years. In reality it’s been less than a month and Niall’s just being dramatic. He’d probably feel different, though, if Julian had told him he’d be here. He just hadn’t known, is all.

He tries to leave but that idea’s shot down by Louis immediately, so he lays back on the bed and scrolls through his phone. Willie’s still up, could try and talk to him, or maybe even Facetime a pal or two in Oz. All those ideas are thrown out the window when he feels a hand slide its way into his hair, scratching slightly at his scalp.

He knows it’s Julian’s hands, doesn’t even have to look up to make it certain. And it feels good, so fucking good, to have someone concentrating on him when the entire room’s in chaos. Still. It’s like the longer he stays here the more he considers how much this is bad idea. Any single person around could look over and see them, take a hint of intimacy and run with it. That mixed with the semi that’s currently threatening to take shape in his shorts has him sitting up quickly. Julian’s hand falls down his back, and when Niall turns around to look at him Julian’s got a grin on his face so fierce it almost makes him look evil.

Niall turns back to his phone and tries to construct a reason to leave when he feels the bed dip behind him and a heavy weight on his shoulder. When he turns his face Julian’s face is next to his and their cheeks touch.

“Are my head massages not good enough for you?” he whispers, and even with everything else Niall has to suppress a grin.

“A little _too_ good, if you ask me,” Niall says back.

“What’s wrong, can’t handle a little human t-t-t-touch?”

Niall reaches back to elbow Julian in the gut, but Julian catches his arm and places it nicely back in his lap.

“So, speaking of that, do you have any plans tonight?”

That startles Niall into silence. His eyes flick around the room, trying to catch evidence that someone’s heard or that someone’s finally cottoning onto what’s happening in the corner by the AC. It seems impossible that this should be happening in such a crowded room, and that everyone should just idly sit by and ignore the fact that Niall Horan’s getting propositioned by a man. That he wants it.

Niall shakes his head.

“Well, then, I think if you’re up for it I’ll see you in ten minutes in my room?”

Niall doesn’t even think about it, just says “Okay, yeah,”

Julian gets off his back and Niall turns his head and follows his movement. He gathers up his laptop and his headphones and gets off the bed, smoothing over the creases he’s left and heading for the door.

“You all are annoying!” he yells, as he’s just about out of the room, “I can’t focus! I’m going back to my room! Good night!”

They all send him off with a variety of goodbyes, like a middle finger (John) or a blown kiss (Harry) and no one expects anything of Niall. They don’t expect him to follow Julian out the door, and they don’t expect him to stay put. When (ten minutes later) he sneaks out, feigning a headache, they barely even bother him. Julian’s already texted him his room number, up a floor and over a bit from the stairs, and he gives himself a few breaths to get ready before he knocks on the door. Julian answers quickly, trackies slung low around his waist and hair wet from a fresh shower, and pulls him on in.

“Precisely on time,” he commends Niall once they’re both situated in the middle of the room. They take seats on opposite beds, meeting each other in the middle.

“Yeah, well, thought the ten-minute delay was to throw everyone off. Now I just see your hygiene left something to be desired,” Niall says.

“Doesn’t it always?”

Niall smiles, “Never complained before, have I?”

“Yes, but that’s beyond the point. We need to talk,”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Niall launches himself back on the bed, because everyone always wants to be _talking_ when Niall has other things to do, like play golf or sing or fuck around.

“Stop saying that,” Julian chides him, “What would Maura think?”

“Don’t bring up my mother at a time like this. What were you going to say?”

Julian looks oddly serious now, like he hardly ever does, and it almost makes Niall uncomfortable. That there’s this other side to Julian he’s never seen, one that doesn’t instinctively smile and make him feel warm.

“I need to know where you stand on this. Because back there, in that hotel room studio, you looked like you were about to bounce out of your skin should anyone even _look_ at you funny,”

Niall shifts and spreads his legs. Julian’s room is oddly warm, probably a mixture of not turning the AC on and the general humidity of the shower.

“It’s weird being with you after we, after we…”

“Fucked?”

“Was gonna say _made love_ but alright. And it felt like everyone could _tell_ , you know?”

“So you _don’t_ want me to tell anyone?”

Niall’s eyes bug out of his head so fast he swears they make a sound.

“Rest easy, bro, never even said a peep,” Julian calms him, “I thought you said you were alright with this whole ‘dude sucking my dick’ thing?”

“I’m alright with it!” he yells, “But I’m not so alright with everyone knowing. It’s weird. I like to keep my shit to myself,”

“And you think that being in my general vicinity will tip everyone off as to our bedroom habits?”

“I think it’s a level of paranoia that’s tough to get past,”

Julian sighs, smooths over a few bumps in his hair, and pulls at the knee of his trackies.

“Well, then, what can I do to make this easier for you?”

There’s a hint of red, buried along the skin at the side of Julian’s neck. Slightly bruised but mostly just faded, it’s a reminder that Julian’s got a life of his own. It could be a mosquito bite, it could be a mark left by someone else who got to know the in’s and out’s of Julian’s studio after Niall left. But Niall doesn’t know; he didn’t get to be there.

Niall’s snapped back to reality by Julian’s voice. “Your silence is sure helping this,”

“Sorry, I-” he forces himself to look away from the mark, look at Julian directly, “This is brand new territory for me. I don’t have rules to give you,”

“If you want we don’t have to continue hooking up. It was fun but if you’re not-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Niall stops him with a hand held up, Julian ceases talking immediately, “Who said anything about that?”

“I dunno. Why would you want to continue with this if it just drives you crazy?”

“Because I’m going through a bit of a disruption in my life right now, and all my emotions are slightly heightened. But this isn’t a permanent thing, I’m not going to be always stuck in this sort of cycle of joy, panic, and desperation. Someday I’m gonna sort myself out and I’m gonna regret walking out of this hotel room before _at least_ a proper snog. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the most relaxed I’ve been in _months_ always seems to be at your hands,”

“So what you’re saying is…”              

“What I’m saying is, dear God, Julian, get over here and snog me before I start whining for it,”

“That’s kinda hot, though,” Julian says, but he climbs over to Niall’s bed and settles alongside him. At the first touch of his lips Niall melts back into the rough, standard comforter. And he’s never been surer that he’s made the right decision.

Julian relaxes him so easy, gets him to clear his mind before he even remembers it was full. And it strikes him, a few moments later, that Julian’s showered _for_ him, that when Niall leans into his neck and takes a big whiff, he smells like aftershave _for_ him. That there’s someone out there still willing to go the extra mile just to make him a little happier sends Niall gasping.

Niall’s not even kept track of how long it’s been since him and Julian last did this, and it’s really the last time he did this with anyone, so he’ll have to be forgiven when he his mind rushes to fastforward and blood rushes straight to his dick. Julian just smells so good, touches Niall in all the right places, holds him back against the bed until Niall thinks he can’t breathe—this time in a good way. He’ll have to be forgiven, again, when they’ve barely been at it for ten minutes and he’s already canting his hips up to get Julian to pay his dick some much-needed attention.

“Needy,” Julian chastises him, but he reaches down to pull Niall off anyways. He’s not wearing any pants (wasn’t expecting to be around other people tonight) so Julian has room to get creative with it. He rubs his palm against the underside, smears the precome already coming out around his crotch, brushes softly against the tip, just enough to get Niall whining.

“What’s that? You don’t like being teased?”

And Niall doesn’t get how he can’t tell, how Julian can’t see from the way he reacts to all his little touches, turns into every fleeting brush of skin against his, that he likes it.

“No, no, no,” he says, short breaths punctuating each word, “I… I like it,”

Julian stops to stare him in the eyes, cock an eyebrow and look at Niall like he’s nuts.

“You _like_ it?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t? You’re a music producer I know your hearing isn’t shit,”

“What do you mean you like it?”

“Jesus, Julian, what else would I mean? I like to be teased. I like when people get me going before they let me have anything. I like getting to feel everything all at once. I like soft touches, tickling, excitement. Fuck, man, you’re thirty. You know what teasing is,”

“Well excuse me for trying to figure you out. If we’re gonna do this again I’d rather minimize the guessing and just do what you like. What else’ve you got?”

Julian sits up on the bed, because apparently discussing bedroom habits is serious enough to warrant a real conversation, and urges Niall to follow him.

“I like teasing,”

“Teasing, got it,”

“And… fuck, I don’t know. I like orgasms?”

Julian leans over to flick him on the ear, “The more you tell me the better I can do. We can leave it here and I’ll just be your old run-of-the-mill bed buddy, or you can use your words and I’ll try my best to blow your mind,”

Niall stops thinking about the fact that Julian has a dick, and how that already disqualifies him from being a run-of-the-mill notch on Niall’s bed post, and thinks back to what girls have done in the past that he’d liked.

“Um, I like kinda… being constrained?”

Julian doesn’t interrupt or say anything, just nods and tries to lead Niall into saying more.

“Like. Don’t be pulling out any fuzzy handcuffs or ties on me. I just like when people, like, hold my hands. Or do anything so that I can’t touch if they don’t want me to,”

“I can do that,” Julian says so matter of factly, as if he’s concocting a game plan already.

“And, like, I prefer when people undress me. I don’t like to do it myself. Unless you want me to, and like ask for it. Then it’s kinda hot. But there’s a lot I like about someone doing it for me, you know?”

Julian nods, his hands sneaking towards Niall’s waiting frame. His hands are gentle and slow, pulling over the hem of Niall’s shorts and reaching to massage Niall’s thighs.

“And, too, like. If you could say nice things, like about me. If you liked something on my body, thought I was fit something. Or if I was doing something nice and it made you feel good. You could tell me that, because I’d like it,”

“I could do that,” Julian says finally, effectively shutting Niall up as he leans forward and snogs him again.

Somehow they find themselves in the same position as before, Niall laid back on the bed with Julian strong and sturdy over him. But now Julian’s less rushed, more precise. He gets what’s gonna drive Niall crazy and he’s gonna run with it. And that’s made clear when Niall feels a hand bypass his waistband and head straight for his dick. It ghosts so slightly over the hardening line of it in his shorts. All he wants is to get some friction on it, to get a nice grip from a strong hand, but he knows where this is heading. Julian’s a tease.

“More,” Niall gasps out.

“I don’t know,” Julian says as he rubs his big hand up Niall’s little thigh, “How much do you want it?”

Niall already feels skittish, ready to jump out of his skin. Julian’s lips feel too good against his, the brush of a beard against his cheek is overwhelming, and he just can’t fucking stay still. There’s so much he wants—a cock in his mouth, something filling him up, he can’t tell. He feels greedy with it all.

“Won’t be able to stop thinking about it until you give it to me,”

“Give you what, babe?”

“Fuck, just fuck me,”

Julian’s lips stop where they’re against Niall’s, even as his keep going. Fuck, he doesn’t want to go slow. He wants Julian to stay pressed against him, hint of a hardening cock settled into his hip, not moving away from him. Julian moves down the bed and settles between Niall’s legs. He reaches up to get his hands under the edge of Niall’s tee. He smooths his hands over the skin there and Niall has to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

“You have to prove to me that you want it,” Julian says. He digs his nails into the soft pale of Niall’s skin, just to drive his point home.

“ _What?_ ” Niall says with a gasp. He’s proud of himself for even getting that word out. His brain’s starting to feel fuzzy and hyper-focused on the suggestive line of Julian’s dick in his trackies.

“Tell me about how bad you want it. _How_ you want it. I want to be sure,”

This is barely making sense to Niall’s brain, and he nearly kicks his leg out to keep Julian in when he moves towards his luggage.

“Fingers fill me up nice, but want more,” Niall’s able to get out, “On my back, arse stuffed with dick, eyes shut,”

He can hear Julian drop something with those words, and he gets a chuckle out of it.

“Fucked, then?” Julian asks. He’s naked now; Niall hadn’t even noticed him get undressed, “You sure?”

“I want it so bad,” Niall says, and his voice wobbles at the end. It must be good enough for Julian because he comes back with a towel, a condom, and a spot of slick.

He reaches back up to where his hands had just been, but he settles against the top of Niall’s shorts. He plays with the elastic for just a second until he’s pulling the fabric down. Niall lifts his hips and lets his bottoms be pulled off. Julian rubs his hand against the hard shape of his dick, uncovered and slightly leaking. He’d be embarrassed by how much he wants it, but he hasn’t got the mind for it, and he’s half sure Julian likes it, too.

“You look like you’re telling the truth,” Julian says, “Cock’s hard and waiting for me, so nice and little. Perfect size for my mouth, don’t you think?”

Niall shakes his head but he can feel Julian’s mouth on him, sucking him loosely around his shaft.. He’s already so sensitive, he doesn’t even think he can handle it.

“Fuck, Julian, no, no, no,” he yells as Julian sucks the tip into his mouth. He immediately looks up at Niall’s eyes and pulls his mouth away, “Gonna come,”

“And you don’t wanna?”

“Not yet. Come with you inside,”

Julian works fast. He gets the shirt over Niall’s head, shoves a pillow under Niall’s arse, and slicks up his fingers before Niall even realizes what’s going on. He spreads his legs wide and lets out a huff of air when Julian’s fingers start opening him up. Niall loves this, he really does. He loves the fullness, the flutter in his stomach, the lack of control. Never in his life did he think this is how he’d end up: legs strewn across a hotel bed with a guy fucking his fingers into his arse. Again. It feels right, though. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Julian’s fingers slip out of Niall with a little squelch, but instead of going back in to fill him up, he waits empty. When Niall looks down, he finds that Julian’s not focused on opening him up anymore. Instead, he’s rolling on a condom and searching out the slick lost in the sheets.

He wriggles his bum in its spot, trying to figure out the best position. The position he wants. He knows, not from experience but he _knows_ , that getting fucked for the first time isn’t always easy. He knows that it can burn, feel weird, you can even go soft. But he’s never felt scared, and especially not now. All he wants is for Julian to be inside him again, loosen him up, and take him out of his head.

“You gotta talk to me,” Julian finally says as he gets between Niall’s knees.

“What?” Niall squeaks out. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to use words, just wants.

“You gotta tell me what’s going on. If you want me to go faster, say it. If you want me to be gentle, say it. You want me to stop? Say stop. Let me know,”

Niall doesn’t say anything, kinda just to be a dick, but he nods to say he gets it. Julian smirks down at him as he hoists Niall’s legs up. Silently, he lines his cock up and pushes in.

It’s more than Niall expects, even as Julian goes so slowly. Fingers aren’t a match to how full he feels, how split open and bare. He shoves his head back onto the pillow and tries to breathe. It feels like every part of him is full, like nothing ever before. There’s an edge to every movement, an extra breath shoved out of him at every thrust. He closes his eyes and blanks his mind for a minute, just so he can key himself into what it feels like to finally get what he wants. It hurts, he realizes, but he doesn’t dislike it. He’ll breathe through the ache, forget about the unrelenting urge telling him it’s _weird_ , if it means Julian’ll keep going.

Julian doesn’t tell him when he goes faster, just grabs onto Niall’s hips and really starts giving it to him. Before, when he was going slow and really easing into it, Niall had to stop himself from concentrating on the feel of every drag, of the knowledge that he’s getting fucked. But when Julian speeds up, his cock rocking in and out of Niall so fast he can’t even keep track, Niall’s head clears. It’s impossible for him to think when every thought gets pushed out of his head.

“Julian,” he says, a whine attached to the end of his name.

“What,” Julian says back. If he would just open his eyes, Niall knows he’d see Julian with this lip pulled between his teeth, eyes dark and focused, stray curls bouncing off his head with each movement.

“Julian, Julian, Julian,” Niall repeats.

He doesn’t say anything back.

Niall’s hands scrabble against skin until he can feel the heated skin of Julian’s arms under his palms. He grips on and throws his head back ‘til it knocks against the headboard. It feels as if with every passing second, every thrust, an unstoppable fire burns through his body.

It’s at that moment, then—when Niall feels ready to fall out of himself—that Julian just… stops. He slows his hips and pulls out, leaving Niall open and gasping.

“Come on, now,” he chides, knocking Niall’s hands off of him, “None of that, then,”

He grabs onto Niall’s wrists and hoists his arms above his head. Julian holds them there and lines back, sinking into Niall in one long thrust that has Niall moaning so loud he’s surprised he’s not getting shushed. Julian keeps his hands held firm into the unforgiving wood of the bed, and his cock is a heavy and unrelenting presence, fucking into Niall so steadily. He lets out a whine without even meaning to, and words spill out of his mouth without anything to shut them up.

He wiggles his hands, just to test their bounds, and he can tell they’d be easy to get out of. But Julian just squeezes harder, like a gentler reminder, and Niall lays still. He relaxes his muscles and opens up even more for Julian. He doesn’t want to fight, he just wants to get fucked.

“Ah, fuck, Julian,” he cries out, a little too loudly, “Fuck, Julian, come on,”

He doesn’t really get what he’s asking for, but Julian leans in closer and presses their bodies together. He’s unrelenting and Niall has to curl his toes and bite his lip to keep from screaming out something even worse, something even more telling, something someone could hear. Julian leans over to kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated against his lips, and whispers dirty thought right to his face.

“Knew you were easy,” he says, and each word makes Niall shudder more, “So fucking ready to get fucked you had to beg for it,”

Niall nods and whines. He is easy, he can feel it. Feel it in the way he clenches around Julian’s cock, keeps on wanting more, sweats with the feeling that it’ll have to end soon.

“But you’re so good,” Julian continues, and his voice shakes with something Niall can’t place, “You’re being such a fucking good boy. So good at lying there and getting fucked. Couldn’t ask for someone better, prettier, hotter. Could fuck you all day and not get tired of it,”

Niall wants to say something back, but every time he tries to all that comes back is another broken cry, another shaky sob. Julian must read into it because he lets go of Niall’s hands and reaches down to pull him off. Niall feels like he could last longer, like he could wait all day, but Julian just has to stroke him for a few seconds before he can already feel it building. And he comes not much later, still shivering and whining like he’s never heard himself before.

Julian keeps on stroking him after he’s done, cum squelching through each pass of his hand. It’s dirty, it’s gross, but it’s amazing. Julian doesn’t shy away from shit like this, and it makes Niall feel less weird that he’d keep going.

All too soon Julian’s hand leaves his dick and he pulls out of Niall’s arse, slowly and still slippery wet from the lube. The condom’s thrown in the bin and Julian leans forward, hands pressed to his knees, breathing heavily. He brushes a hand through his hair and smiles at Niall. Niall smiles back, like he can’t even help it.

“Can I come on you?” Julian asks so innocently, like it’s normal. Niall thinks it over for just a second, gets what he wants straight away, and points to his mouth.

Julian doesn’t question it or say anything, just crawls up the bed and rests his cock (heavy, hot, and hard) against Niall’s lips. Niall opens for it and flinches at the first slap of a cock against his tongue. It’s salty and odd, nothing like he’s ever tasted before, but he opens up wider as Julian starts jacking himself off. There’s something so particularly intimate about it, about the peculiar taste and the wet sounds so close to his face, but he’s so eager for Julian to finish. And Julian does, painting strips of come over Niall’s lips, nose, and cheeks, just a few drops actually landing in his mouth. Julian stares down at him and looks so pleased and so content, Niall could just snog the absolute-fucking-life out of him.

Instead, Julian swings his legs over and stands on wobbly feet. He holds out a hand for Niall to take and leads them both to the bathroom. Niall cringes with each step, an empty and dull, achy feeling stuck between his legs.

“That takes a little bit of getting used to,” Julian says. From experience. Because he’s done this, and Niall hasn’t.

He props Niall up against the counter and wets a cloth he’s got stored in his bag. Julian rubs it over the come drying on Niall’s skin, over his chest and softening prick and face. Niall blinks slowly with every pass of the flannel, and he almost gasps when it strays too close to his arse.

“Think you can get that yourself?” Julian asks. Niall nods and scrubs himself clean of any lube or sweat between his legs as Julian takes a leak. He follows after him and they brush their teeth together as if this is any regular sleepover, or they’ve been married for five years. One of those. And sometimes, without even meaning to, Niall catches Julian staring at him with something in his eyes that he can pin down. Longing or sadness or content. He can’t tell; hotel lights have played worse tricks on him before.

They find their ways back to the bedroom, Niall abandoning any thought of returning to his own giant, clean, lonely bed, and get situated amongst the covers. Julian makes quick work ridding the bed of the bum pillow and the dirtied towel. Some housekeeper is going to have a nice story to piece together in their head come morning.

Niall buries himself deep under the sheets. He’s settled down now, feels as if he can talk and think clear as any other day. But he feels steady, in a way, and all he wants to do is sleep.

Julian, on the other hand, sits perched on the side of the bed. His hair’s been put up into a bun, like a nighttime routine, and he flashes through screens on his phone. Finally he puts it down and plugs it in, and turns to face Niall before he can join him.

“You’re feeling good?” he asks. Niall smiles.

“What? Need me to blabber on about your sex god level? Moan about your dick or something,”

“No!” he yells, slapping Niall’s stomach, “In case you forgot you just got fucked for the first time, and I’m kinda just making sure I didn’t ruin it,”

“Fuck, Julian, no,” he yells, laughing with enough force to shake his little belly.

Julian rolls his eyes, “Well excuse me for double checking,”

Niall moves to knee him in the back, but Julian’s still and solid frame reveal that he’s trying to get to sleep.

“Night,” Niall whispers, and Julian says it back before he’s asleep. Niall lays awake for an hour after, thinking of everything: first times, wild hair, sticky skin, lonely thoughts. But he falls asleep eventually, the sound of Julian’s breaths singing him to sleep like a lullaby.

**

The X Factor stage is like a second home to Niall, he’d recognize it anywhere. There’s a certain sense of nostalgia to it all. The bright lights that blinded them in the beginning and let them go at the end. The stage is sickeningly overdramatic, and the screens behind him change so suddenly between images that his brain is starting to hurt. But it was home to a formative few months for him, where he made best mates and learned how to sing not just for himself but for other people. He danced poorly, he sang backup, he smiled a crooked smile, he saw the world through newborn eyes.

Now, though, he’s graduated to a point in life where he understands this stage. He knows how to work it, how to bounce off the other boys with his calculated energy. He can liven up Louis’s pent-up steps, reign in Harry’s bursts of excitement, and easily give back the dance solos Liam always likes to throw in. It’s the best part of being on stage, showcasing each and every one of his mates. Which makes it so surprising that they’re not with him.

He takes a second glance, then a third, then a hopeless fourth. There’s no reason for him to be standing in front of an audience like this alone, guitar clasped in his hand as if it’s all he’s got. The judges stare him down, locking onto his face as if they _expect_ something, as if Niall should even know why he’s up in there in the first place. This isn’t… this isn’t a spot just for him. It’s a spot for _them_. It’s where his band got their start, it has nothing to do with Niall Horan the individual.

But the audience looks at him, too. Waits for him to move, to break into a song that Niall hasn’t gotten figured out yet. Their eyes are expectant and their mouths hang open in screams and excitement that Niall can’t even hear. He can’t even tell what they’re expecting, why they think he has anything to give.

And then they all change at once, narrowed eyes and straight lips falling across the crowd in a single motion. He looks back again, just to make sure no one’s joined him on stage, picks up the guitar, and tries for nothing.

**

Niall’s stuck face-down into a pillow and there’s a wet spot where he’s, apparently, been drooling. His heart’s beating a bit faster but he rolls over, concentrates on reminding himself of his basics _Niall. Niall Horan. Age 21. Part of One Direction. Irish as fuck. Hates mornings. Bright hair, bright eyes, brighter smile._ And once he starts feeling himself again, feels the pit roll out of his stomach, he sits up and rubs a hand over his face.

It’s early, like stupidly early, like sun barely streaming through the window early. Niall can tell from the heaviness behind his eyes that it’s only been a few hours since he went to sleep. He supposes he could lie back down and go to sleep, and in a few hours more, when one of their alarms goes off, he can wake up next to Julian. And Julian will yawn loud and stretch wide, brushing his hand along whatever inches of skin it can reach on Niall’s body. And Niall will curl ‘round his touch, look into Julian’s face and croak out a “morning”.

Those are good mornings, sometimes, when they get to wake up together and start their day together. Usually they just get up separately, throw on their clothes and go out in search of the closest thing resembling coffee and eggs. Some days, though, those days that Niall can linger on, Julian will lean over and kiss up the line of Niall’s arm, his back, the side of his neck. Whichever piece of skin looks particularly empty, particularly worthy of the press of his lips. And he’ll work his way up to Niall’s face, touch their noses together, and whisper “hey” before leaning into him to kiss him good. They’ll kiss for a few minutes, feeling out the early-morning shapes and movements of each other, before they break apart. Get dressed. Search out those eggs and coffees.

Niall can tell it’s not one of those mornings, can just feel the regularity in the air setting under his skin. Julian’s lying on his side again, and Niall can see the start of his arse crack peeking out from the top of the bedsheet. He leans over and pokes a mole just above it (Julian doesn’t move, continues being the heaviest sleeper in the world) and swings his legs over the side of the bed. They tingle as he takes the first few steps of the day, and there’s a twinge of something harsh just between his legs. He wrings an ankle out, hoping maybe it will the ache away a little faster. He has walking to do today, walking that shouldn’t look like he’s just gotten fucked.

He passes by the window and takes a moment to stare out at the city. Just a few blocks away is the Space Needle, and he can see it up close in all of its odd glory. Julian’s promised to take him to a fish market if he’s good, and he keeps wondering why in the world that’s being used as a _reward_ , but he bites his tongue and pulls on yesterday’s jeans. That’s the good part about waking up so early, he can rush out of the room without having anyone see him, without having to fabricate some lame excuse about why he’s there. Of course, he’s already _fabricated_ those excuses (was working on the album, watching a movie, smoking up) to use should such an occasion arise, he’s just happy he doesn’t have to stutter them out.

Julian doesn’t stir as Niall shoves his feet into his shoes, and by the time he’s walking out the door back to his own room Niall’s sure he’s not getting back to sleep anytime soon. His room is empty, soulless, and there’s no one lying on the pillow next to him to whisper _morning_ to when their eyes meet.

**

Niall’s relaxing on his bed, shirt off, legs dangling from the side, a footie match left on low in the background, when he gets a text from Louis. It’s a simple two emoji message: the cigarette and the toilet. There’s no missing what it means.

He rouses himself from his useless half-slumber, gets his shoes into some slippers, and slips off down the hall without even caring to put a shirt on. Louis’s only two feet away, and he’s surprised that he can’t smell any smoke already leaking out the bottom of the door when it opens.

“Haven’t started yet, was waiting for you,” Louis mumbles as he lets Niall into the room. His room is a tip, as always, and there’s a faint, lingering smell of smoke that sometimes follows him when he gets like this.

In the bathroom there’s a nest of towels on the floor, the ones that Louis brings off the bus so that they don’t get in trouble for stinking up the hotel’s. Again. And there’s a can of his favorite air freshener—vanilla—up against a baggy of self-rolled spliffs. They arrange themselves up against the tub, flick the fan on, and light one up.

“So how’ve you been, Neil?” Louis asks after taking his first hit. Niall looks up at him and the brush of hair against his forehead, his bleary blue eyes, the tight pull of his lips as he takes another hit. This is when Louis’s at his best. All settled down, lazy smiles and soft touches.

“I’ve been alright. Tour’s going great, yeah?”

Louis nods and rests his head on the wall next to him. He seems exhausted, but he always has trouble deciding when to go to bed.

“Tonight kinda wore me out, y’know? Felt great up there, but it pulled everything out of me,”

“How’s the fam doing? Kiddos alright?”

Louis stills and bores holes into the side of Niall’s head with his stares. It’s a new development, but it’s a sore spot for Louis. He gets protective now, over _everything_.

Niall knocks his knee against Louis’s and shoots him a smile, “I meant the English one. Your mum, dad, gaggle of sisters, twins, you know,”

“Well, the babies are a right handful. Every time I come home they’re bigger, can move faster, can say more thing that aren’t my name. The older twins are of course playing babysitter at every possible chance for my mum, so she couldn’t be happier. Once they start into their terrible twos they’ll be running for the hills, though,”

“And is Daisy still in love with me?”

“Are you kidding? You’re her forever boy,”

Niall hides his face in his hands so that Louis can’t see his wide smile or the blush spreading across my cheeks.

“Who’d change their name, though?” Louis asks.

“What? Who’s changing names?”

“If you and Daisy were to get married. I mean, obviously, she’s been dying to be Daisy Horan since the moment she first met you. But I gather you couldn’t pass up the chance to be a Tomlinson, could you?”

Niall makes a face, “What in the world does that even mean, Louis?”

“I mean, you could be like my little brother. We’d have family dinners together and everything, spend Christmas at the same lodge. We’d get matching sweaters with a giant T on them. Could be the third set of Tommo Twins in my house,”

“We’re a year and a half apart,”

“Twins in theory, Niall, keep up,”

Louis gets pretty when he laughs, as if he weren’t pretty before, with crinkled eyes and an easy smile. When he’s mad he laughs like he’s snarling, and when he’s embarrassed he laughs like he’s choked up, but when he’s like this (slightly high, slightly tired, totally relaxed) he laughs genuinely. And it’s not like it’s rare that Louis gets like this, but Niall enjoys it every time nonetheless. Because sometimes Louis can bite and get unnecessarily mean, just because he’s having a bad day. But he wants Niall around now, can tell because he’s the only one in the bathroom and the only one that gets to joke around about dating a sister.

“That’s not the only way to get your last name, is it?” Niall says.

“What, you gonna just up and change yourself to a Tomlinson? Think Bobby might have some words about it,”

“It’s not…” Niall stops. He shouldn’t have even mentioned it, “Never mind,”

The toke’s been burned down to a stub already so Louis dabs it out and leans forward to light another.

“Wait, fuck, Neil. I’ve been greedy. It’s your turn,”

He tries to hand it over but Niall reaches up a hand to block it. Their hands touch and Niall doesn’t think about it.

“Nah, I’m alright. I’ve been trying to cut down on how much I’ve been smoking. Y’know, keep the voice up,”

 “Hmm,” Louis sticks the blunt in his mouth and sucks in greedily, “That’s a surprise,”

“What? Have I been extra stoner lately?”

Louis shrugs, “Dunno, just thought that was why you’ve been spending all that time with Julian,”

Niall freezes.          

“I feel like I’ve been spending a normal amount of time with him,” he explains. Although he hasn’t, and he knows it. He just thought he’d been hiding it better.

“I’m not being accusatory, Neil, just thought you two were smoking together. Definitely haven’t been doing it with me,”

“Told ya, I’ve been trying to not do it as much. He’s just… Julian’s been helping me,”

“What?” Louis barks out a laugh, “Did ya go back to school? Need help with your maths homework?”

“No. I’ve just been… feeling. Like. Off,”

“Fuck, should’ve realized,” Louis says, and Niall thinks to himself _realized what_ because Niall’s being intentionally vague as shit, “Lil Nialler’s got himself some bird problems, eh?”

And, well, Louis actually couldn’t be further from the truth. Niall’s got a lot of problems he’s trying to get himself through and a girl is absolutely not among them, but it’s the easiest to explain and lie about. Louis likes girl problems; he thrives on them.

“Yeah, he’s been helping me with girl stuff,” Niall concedes.

“Well, as we’ve recently established I’m basically your stand-in big brother so I’m rather offended that you didn’t immediately come to me with this issue,”

“Are you, now?”

Louis grins, “Yes, but this can be rectified if you’ll just fill me in on this and never talk to Julian again,”

Niall tilts his head back and laughs. He can do part of it.

“It’s not like… a specific girl, you know? It’s just in general,”

“You feeling substandard? Noncommittal?” Louis’s doing the thing now where he mumbles with a joint in his mouth, too lazy to get it out every time he wants to speak. But Niall’s around him enough to understand what he means, like a second language.

“I’m feeling like I get in too fast too easy, you know?”

“As in… sexually?”

“Jesus Christ, Louis, no. I mean I get really attached to people, and I get attached to the idea of us being together really quickly. But it’s always with people… girls… who I’m not really _seeing_ , right? It’s just… god, am I being annoying or something,”

Louis grimaces, “You’re never annoying, Neil. So what’s the big deal, then? You’ve got yourself a girl and you keep standing there on fastforward? Well press pause and give yourself a little space, bro,”

“No, it’s not like it’s _one_ girl. It’s everyone. I feel like I’m infatuated with every… girl. I can’t stop thinking about the lot of them. Their hair, their voices, how they hold me. Their bangs over their foreheads, the twinkle of their eyes,”

Louis smirks, “ _I don’t know why I wanna be with every girl I meet_ ,”

“No, not, Jesus. This isn’t even making sense, is it?”

“I don’t know, Neil, does it make you feel alive?” Louis’s smile combined with the joint pressed to his lips makes him look like he’s hiding not having any teeth, and normally Niall’d laugh and make fun of him, but tonight’s not the time.

“Never mind; it’s not that important,” Niall mumbles, curling up on himself. He can hear Louis sigh, and when he looks over to see what kind of emotion’s left on Louis’s face he finds a joint stuck in his face.

“Give yourself a freebie day, mate,”

Niall feels like he has to, now, because he always feel like he _has_ to do what Louis thinks is best for him. He takes the joint between his fingers, balances between his lips, and inhales deeply. If he’s going to wreck his voice for a few hours he’s going to do it well.

There’s a bit of rustling next to him, and as he closes his eyes and takes another hit he can feel Louis crowd in on him. He can feel Louis’s arms around his shoulders, his knees tucked into his ribs, his head resting on his bony shoulder. And when he opens his eyes and turns his head, Louis dips his and rests their foreheads together.

“I could just fall asleep like this,” he whispers, like Niall’s fragile with the crumbling end of a blunt stuck in his mouth, “If I go to sleep will you carry me to bed?”

“Don’t think I can do that, sorry. Maybe could pull you there, by, like, your ankles,”

“What? You calling me fat?”

“I’m calling _me_ scrawny,”

“Impossible. You’re the perfect size for me,” Louis says as he moves his hand to pinch at a stomach roll, “Soft where I want you to be, firm where you need to be. Wouldn’t want any other Niall for me,”

“Still can’t carry you to bed, though, can I?”

“I’ll have to carry my old self, then,” Louis plucks the blunt out of Niall’s fingers, stubs it out at the turtle between their feet, and replaces his head on Niall’s shoulder, “You sleeping over?”

“Is that a question or command?”

“There was definitely a question mark at the end, but it’s really a rhetorical question ‘cause you know how stupid paranoid I get when I have to sleep alone after smoking,”

Niall _knows_ , has seen the remnants of Louis thinking himself brave and keeping to himself while he’s high, when he calls Niall at three in the morning saying there’s definitely someone else in the room, and when Niall arrives only wearing pants and one sock all he finds is Louis sitting up, cross-legged in bed with two glasses of water between his knees. And Niall will crawl up in bed next to him, coax him to lie down and tell him stories of Ireland as Louis’s breaths settle.

“Guess I’m not leaving, then,” Niall says.

“No way, you’re not,” Niall leans his head against Louis’s, can feel a build-up of sweat from smoking in such a tiny room, “You’re my forever boy, now,”

**

There’s a crush of people around Niall. Everywhere he looks there’s different wild hair, eyes sparked by frenzy, hands reaching out to grab him. His boys are with him, thank God, but they can’t protect him from everything. Not from mobs of fans and not from a tightening in his chest that threatens to push out every last breath from his lungs.

Louis’s up front, shrieking in an impossibly high voice for everyone to move out of the way. Liam’s not far behind him, using his big, broad shoulders to edge people out of their space. Harry is next, right in front of Niall, big and imposing and offering all of himself for Niall to hold onto. And then there’s Niall, who’s not being much of a help, just being dragged along by everyone else who knows what they’re doing.

Then, suddenly, behind him he can feel a chest pressed to his back and arms enveloping his shoulders. He’s about to scream for help when a Northern voice speaks right next to his ear.

“You’re alright, Ni,” he says, so low and sweet, “Only a few more steps and we’re at the car,”

“When’d you get here?” Niall screams back, almost defensively.

“Don’t worry about it, we’re almost there. I’ve got you,”

He sounds so sure of it, and his soft hands with their intricate designs are pressing him even closer to the body behind him. There’s a lingering scent of cigarette smoke and the feeling of cool rings knocking against his skin. And it’s strange how, even among all of these people who are zeroing in on Niall like he’s a target, he can feel so anchored by just someone behind him, telling him it’s alright.

It changes quickly. So quick Niall can even register the difference before it’s overtaking him. The hands aren’t gentle; they’re desperate. They claw at his shirt, pulling him back into an unknown space until the boys are far off in the distance, impossibly far for the time that’s passed.

He turns his head as much as he can, expecting to find crinkly eyes and a wide smile that’s set in a laugh. Instead it’s a sea of fans, and the sight of the lot of them sets his heart stumbling. They’re surrounding him, screaming out nonsense that makes his head hurt. It’s like they can’t get enough of him, holding onto any part of him that presents itself. His hair, his arms, someone’s even at his legs trying to lift him up.

It’s as the crowd surrounds him even more, at the sight of his band members walking away without him, that he tips his head back, closes his eyes, and screams.

**

Niall wakes with a jolt, his arms flailing and his head falling back to bounce against a pillow. He takes a few breaths, nice and easy, before rolling over to find the time. There’s a drowsy layer of film still settled against his brain but he feels rejuvenated, which makes it that much more surprising when he sees the time. It’s half past one; he’s only been napping.

Gingerly he steals himself out of bed to throw open the curtains and see the outside world, as if his clock would lie to him. Of course it’s still dark out, night blanketing the city below him. It’s a boring city in a boring state, one of those big ones with too many right angles. The city’s even named after the state they’re in, as if the area couldn’t get any blander or nondescript. He imagines some place called Ireland City, Ireland, and has a good chuckle to himself.

Then there’s the task of figuring out what he’s going to do with himself. He’s wide awake now, so going back to bed’s not an option, but he was in bed in the first place because he abandoned a jam sesh with the boys as he feigned a headache. He keeps making up these excuses, then getting locked into them.

But there’s always Julian.

He feels slightly self-conscious as he tugs on a vest and plods down the hall to the room he knows belongs to Julian. It’s a little odd to just turn up on someone’s doorstep, fresh off a nightmare, wanting a little cuddle. Especially since he’s twenty-one and should be past this night terror stage of his life. And Julian’s probably doing something, too, something like producing their music or talking to his own family. Or maybe he even has John over, and Niall will have to make up some excuse as to why he’s there, at that exact moment, when he really shouldn’t. And it’s even weirder how much time he spends concocting lies to explain why he might be in Julian’s general vicinity at any given moment. He can’t even tell if he needs them.

Julian answers the door with his jeans and a henley still on. He hasn’t even had a chance to change since Niall left hours ago, and he wonders what he’s interrupting.

“Good morning, sunshine, thought you went off to sleep?”

Niall pushes past him, out of the intimidating open expanse of the corridor. Julian doesn’t tut at him for being rude or ask him any more questions. He just shuts the door and goes to work putting his hair up in a bun.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Niall asks as he searches the room for something that’ll let on that he’s being a bother. Maybe a Skype session left open or two glasses when he should only find one. All he does find is Julian staring at him as if he’s got two heads.

“Of course you’re not interrupting me, you idiot. I’ve been alone for hours. Come join me, I’m just getting into the juicy bits of switching between two bass parts. Wanna join?”

Niall doesn’t want to, not particularly, but he follows Julian over to the sofa anyways. He’s built himself a little nest there, a few cans of Red Bull sitting behind his open laptop, the screen already turned to his editing program, pillows surrounding him on all sides. Julian pulls one away so Niall has a spot, and he settles nicely against the cushions and Julian’s side in equal parts.

“Who’s this for, then?” Niall whispers, as if anything louder than it will ruin Julian’s concentration.

“An original song for the X Factor. I’m just playing around with it, really, don’t even know if I’m gonna send it out to be vetted,”

Niall watches him switch back and forth between parts, glances over the notes Julian’s already amassed. He’s spending a painstakingly long time on a song that might never be heard by someone outside of this room.

“You’ve got an amazing dedication to this song, bro,” he says as Julian goes over, once again, the same five-second spot.

“Not like you haven’t got that yourself,” Julian says back, staring blankly at the screen. Niall looks up to see his eyes, dark and unmoving, focused on easy, repetitive movements.

“Not like you, I haven’t. Most of the stuff I’ve been coming up with lately has been shit anyways,”

“Wouldn’t say that. Don’t think I’d like working with you as much as I do if you were bad at it,”

“Well, I don’t think the orgasms hurt,” Niall says lightly, but Julian doesn’t hint at a smile or say anything. Niall continues before it gets awkward, “It’s not like I’m Liam or Louis or Harry, though. It comes so much easier to them. What have I brought to the table this time? A song and a half? A few pieces of advice on the others’?”

“You’ve gotta stop doing that,” Julian finally says, loud and right against Niall’s ear. He turns his face to find Julian staring at him, attention broken, “I genuinely think you’re a great talent and it’s annoying when you act like I’m lying or saying it just because we fuck,”

Niall turns his head and rubs his nose into the soft material of Julian’s shirt. He takes a whiff but it doesn’t smell like anything.

“I didn’t mean it like that,”

“Well,” he coughs as Niall places a hand on his thigh, “You bring something special to the table that the other boys don’t. You’re focused, organized, and you put a lot of sentimentality and descriptions in your lyrics. It’s not a matter of who’s better, okay? You’re just different,”

Julian seems done, then, and Niall’s not going to push the issue any further. But he doesn’t even have to as Julian leans over and gets his computer off his lap, freeing up a space for something else.

“I don’t only want you around because of physical stuff, okay?” he sighs, “But if you wanted to climb over here and make out with me right now I wouldn’t be opposed to it,”

“Well, okay,” Niall says as he gets up and swings his leg over Julian’s lap, “But only if you want me for more than my body,”

He expects another joke or a silly remark, but Julian just fits his mouths to Niall’s and kisses him good. Kisses him deep and slow, effectively shutting him up. He can feel the imprint of Julian’s thumbs in the small of his back, the steady hold Julian’s arms have on keeping him together.

Usually Niall feels different when he’s with Julian. He feels on edge, frantic, like if they don’t hurry it’ll all fall apart. For the moment, though, Niall just feels nice. He throws his arms around Julian’s neck so he can press closer, tilts Julian’s head back to kiss the breath out of him, and wiggles his bum around in the warmth of Julian’s lap until he can feel the gentle hint of a dick there.

“Fuck,” Niall whines as he leans over and rests his head on Julian’s shoulder. He closes his eyes and sits in silence, feeling out the rise and fall of Julian’s chest.

“Don’t go lazy on me,” Julian chides. Niall responds by letting go of all his muscles and falling heavy into Julian’s lap. He closes his eyes and hears Julian’s light chuckle, feels the echo of it reverberating into his chest.

“You fucker,” he says, his voice still airy with affection.

“That’s the point, I think,”

Julian’s hand wanders low, getting the hint, and dips under the elastic of Niall’s pants. His fingers tracing the top of Niall’s crack, making him squirm before even getting anywhere.

“You wanna?” Julian asks as his fingers dip lower, rubbing torturously over Niall’s hole. He doesn’t have to finish the sentence, Niall takes a deep breath and nods his head.

“Yeah,”

“You want it bad,”

Niall does, now that he thinks about it. It’s too good a night (where they’re happy and soft and warm and delightfully horny) to pass up. He sways his back and pushes out his bum, knees sliding further apart, letting Julian’s finger into just the tiniest bit, rough and dry without any lube.

“ _So_ bad,” Julian amends, “Fucking desperate for it,”

“You’re too good,” Niall says back, “Can’t stop thinking about how you fuck me, how big you are,”

“I fuck you good?”

Niall nods and rests his head back on Julian’s shoulder. Julian takes his hand out and rests it softly over the curve of Niall’s arse. Niall whines with the loss, hips moving restlessly against Julian’s.

“Can’t be getting lazy on me, babe,” he chides, sending a little tap not even hard enough to leave a mark, “I’m not gonna be doing all the work tonight,”

He pushes their foreheads together and gets close enough that Niall could just kiss him, “You gonna ride me?”

“Yeah,” Niall says immediately, “Fuck myself down on your cock,”

“Think you can handle it?”

Niall doesn’t say anything, just whines and ducks his head. He can feel Julian’s hands at the bottom of his shirt, and he lifts his hands so Julian can pull it off him. But before he can move his head back, Julian grabs his neck and hauls him in to kiss him. He feels out the bite in Julian’s lips, the urgency in his hands grabbing at the soft weight in his hips, the movement of his hips under Niall’s own.

“Gotta get to the bed,” Julian says against Niall’s lips, “Can’t exactly write to your handlers that I’ve sex-injured you,”

“Yeah, _fell off the couch/my dick_ doesn’t have such a ring to it,”

Julian laughs and pushes him to his feet, following Niall over to the bed. It looks slept in already, like someone’s just had a nap in it, and Julian shucks off the covers and goes in search of his toiletry kit. Niall strips himself of his shorts and pants, and when Julian returns with a plain bottle of lube in one hand and a condom packet in the other, he’s got a smile plastered wide across his face.

“You feeling impatient?”

“Thought I told you I’d do all the work,”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean all the _fun_ stuff,” Julian whines.

“Cos getting fucked is so boring,” Niall jokes as he pulls the shirt over Julian’s head and pushes him back on the bed. Julian looks like he wants to say something, but he stays quiet as Niall pulls off his trousers and pants. And when Niall climbs on top of him, bare skin against bare skin, he just smiles.

“Who’s gonna do the honors?” Julian asks, and when Niall looks down, the lube’s perched squarely on his chest.

Niall picks it up and remembers the last time, the only time, they had tried this. He’d gotten a bit over-eager, a little too excited, and had lost his stamina and rhythm only a few minutes in. They’d finished with Niall on his stomach, Julian jacking into him so quick it left him sore for days, but Niall wants to finish this one out.

“You could do it,” Niall offers, and Julian winks as he takes the lube out of his hands and slicks up a finger.

He opens him up so easily, one hand brought to Niall’s waist to calm and ground him. Niall just concentrates on the easy slide of the lube, the easy breaths he’s forcing out, the stretch and burn that he’s working through. He sighs as Julian’s fingers leave his hole and reach out for the condom next to him. He rolls it on himself (saving Niall from a similar red-faced trauma as last time) and raises his eyebrows.

“You set, babe?” he asks and brings both hands ‘round to squeeze at Niall’s bum. Niall nods; Julian winks again.

“Just go slow, set your own pace,” Julian says as Niall reaches back to grab his dick and center himself over it, “Don’t worry about how I’m feeling because I fucking _guarantee_ I’m gonna like anything you do,”

Niall nods and slowly settles himself down, pushing Julian’s cock past his rim and filling him up. He sighs when he’s fully sat in Julian lap, and gives himself a few breaths to get used to the feeling before he starts rolling his hips and working himself on Julian’s cock.

“Fuckin’ big,” Niall whines. He can feel his hole stretch, and while he’s certainly not a virgin anymore, it can still take some time to get used to. Especially when he’s in control and he’s got to figure out the balance between burn and pleasure himself.

“So tight,” Julian says, a scratch to his voice that Niall likes to tuck away, “Already feel perfect, babe, don’t even worry. Keep going for yourself. Want you to feel good,”

Niall’s breath stutters as he picks it up a little bit. Julian’s hands find their way to his thighs, and he holds onto them to feel the grasp, feel the effect Julian has on him.

The faster he goes, the more he loses control. Every feeling seems new, electric, intense, but he feels addicted to it. With every movement he just wants more, like each drop down onto Julian’s cock just isn’t enough.

And then, just perfectly, Julian figures it out. He takes his hand off of Niall’s waist and gives his bum a small tap.

“Oh,” Niall says, soft and restrained. He keeps working himself, up and down, but it’s something he’s not even considered—that he’d like that.

“Yeah?” Julian says, rubbing over the spot he’d just tapped.

“Yeah,” Niall says back. He looks Julian in the eye, gives him a nod, and waits.

Julian brings his hand back further this time, slaps him hard and good around the fleshy, soft part of his arse. Niall groans, wiggles his little hips further, feels out the sting of his skin with the burn of his rim. And with each spank, Niall moans with pent-up energy, spreads his knees a little wider, until he can barely move up and down anymore, Julian’s cock buried deep within him.

“Come on,” Julian says as he draws his hands away from the sensitive, red skin, “You need help?”

Niall nods and gasps out a breath before Julian grabs ahold of his waist, lifts his hips, and starts pounding solidly into him. Niall loses all sense of words, garbles out incoherent praises, and gives away high-pitched, little squeaks he’d been trying to keep in. He manages to get a hand on himself and is striping Julian with spurts of his cum before he has the mind to realize he’s done it. He drops the hand from his dick as Julian comes in him, a pulsating throb in his arse, and he pulls out gingerly just to collapse on top of him.

“You’re great,” Julian says, and even if Niall feels like all his sense has gotten fucked out of him, he laughs at such a lame compliment.

“Fine, fucker, need me to go on?”

“Think so,” Niall says, running his teeth along Julian’s skin.

“You continue to blow my mind,”

“Such a tight, little lay, so perfect for me,”

“Always thinking about you, how good you are for me,”

Niall stops listening but Julian keeps going, and he feels his heartbeat slow to the dulcet sounds of Julian’s voice, telling him everything he loves about him, and never quite shutting up.

**

“How does it affect you the most?” Liam says. His eyes are all dreamy and his voice, scratchy. He looks like he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Cuddle up with a teddy bear and Niall could tuck him in.

“I get quiet and a little paranoid,” Niall says as the toke burns down between his fingers, “And horny,”

Liam laughs and his eyes crinkle. Niall turns his head so he can look at him.

“Well, if you need a moment to be left alone just let me know,”

He reaches his hand across and squeezes at Niall’s knee. They’ve got a blunt each, none of the sharing shit that Louis likes. And it’s a busy night, with seemingly every bug in Indianapolis in the trees beyond their balcony. The noise alone is enough to drive Niall crazy, but the sounds are turned into a dull vibration in his head that he assumes is aided by the weed.

“How’ve you been, Niall. Been a busy little bugger lately with your sporting events and nights out with pop stars,”

“You know, getting bulked up and amassing my Hollywood following so that I can get into being a professional WAG after this all blows over,”

It’s a joke, and Niall thinks it’s a funny one, but Liam looks at him like he’s started crying.

“Do you think about that a lot?”

“What? Palling around with athletes? They’re good people, mate,”

“No. I mean the band ending,”

It’s almost as if the bugs have stopped chirping and the air has thickened at just the hint of what Liam’s suggesting.

“Are you asking if I’m planning to leave?”

“Fuck, Niall, no. I know… you’re not. But are you worried about it? Sometimes I think that about Harry. That he’s so busy securing his future for when we’ve broken up that he forgets about some of his responsibilities with us,”

“That’s dumb. Harry loves this band and he’d never-”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t. It’s just a thing to think about, is all, and I think Harry’s doing the most thinking,”

“I don’t like thinking about it,”

Niall turns away so he can take a hit and blow it out away from Liam’s face. He follows the line of the smoke as it blows out into the open air. Louis likes to think it’s poetic. In reality it just looks dirty, like he can see the damage he’s doing his lungs just from the soft swirls of pale gray.

“I mean he thought about it,” Liam says after a moment. His voice goes quiet and tense, and Niall knows who he’s referring to. They all do. Sometimes, when it gets hard to talk about, they’ll adapt a different intonation, a quiet whisper to their voice. And the rest of them will know without asking what’s wrong.

“I miss him,” Liam says. Niall stares straight ahead and doesn’t look over.

“Like, at first it was shock, you know,” Liam continues after Niall stays quiet, “And it didn’t feel real so it was alright. But that first concert sucked. Right afterwards it hit me, and I felt like shit. I thought it would get better, but it still comes back to me when I don’t want it to. Like right now… it seems like a night he’d like. It’s clear out, not too humid, not too hot. You can just sit out on a balcony and smoke for hours. Relax, clear your mind, be yourself for once. He’s not here, though,”

He nods and looks over at Liam after he’s finished. Liam’s gone all soft, looks at peace now. He’s said his mind. Niall hasn’t felt that way in so long.

“It’s hard to imagine not liking this, right?” he finally says, and Liam almost startles at his words. Like he just expected Niall to not say anything.

“I mean, it gets rough sometimes with the media and a full workload. I can understand if it gets to be too much,” Liam says.

“I get it, I truly do. But there was always an unspoken pact we had. That no matter how horrible the job could seem, it’d be fine just because we were doing it together. I can’t imagine ever regretting this band, ever wanting to quit, but even if I would I think I’d take a step back and look at you boys. You all put everything into perspective. I get to be with my best mates, and you’re always there to support me. When would I ever get that back?”

Niall’s been paying more attention to his words than his joint, and it starts burning the skin at his fingertips. He drops it into the ashtray and folds his arms against himself. It’s not chilly out, but it feels better like this.

Liam looks somber, “He was just unhappy with some things, got stressed,”

“Yeah but how often were we stressed? How often did we get overwhelmed or lonely or annoyed? All the fucking time. But being together made it feel better, because there’s always someone else feeling the same as you. And we were together through all the madness. So what stopped? What changed?”

 “I don’t get what you’re asking,” Liam says. Niall turns to look at him and finds both their joints abandoned, embers already gone with the ashes. It was supposed to be a chill night.

“Just… we stopped being a reason for him to stay. Was that a reason to leave? Was there something about the rest of us, our personality or our fucking music in general that made him go?”

Liam’s looking at him now with that face he sometimes gets. Where he’s concerned for you and wants you to feel alright. And Niall shouldn’t hate that face, but sometimes he just wants Liam’s puppy-dog eyes to stop. Niall doesn’t need to be coddled.

“Don’t listen to me,” Niall says as he kicks his feet up to the railing, “I’m just talking shit,”

He doesn’t look back at Liam, just hears the sound of a chair scraping across the concrete. Their knees bump together as their chairs end up mere inches apart.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Liam says, and Niall loves him. With his crinkly eyes and his round nose. His ability to let things go, to give you space when you need it. Niall could just lean over, right there, and climb into his lap and give him a hug.

“Ah, I’m probably bumming you out, aren’t I? Gotta stop it,”

“You kidding? Could listen to you talk all night. It’s not even the Irish accent, just you,”

Niall laughs and turns his head. Liam looks so good like this, soft light breaking against his face and warm body snuggled into sweats. Niall could curl into him, fall asleep in an instant. He settles for leaning into his shoulder when Liam loops an arm around him.

“You probably don’t want to listen to me whine, though,”

“Everyone gets to whine,” Liam says, “But I’d choose you, always. Pegged you as a good one back in bootcamp, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat,”


	3. The Crash

Niall’s been sitting on Julian’s lap for the better part of thirty minutes, and he only realizes this when he happens to glance down at the clock in the corner of the computer in front of him.

 _Odd_ , he thinks to himself, _hasn’t felt that long._

It’s partially due to how nice it is to sit like this. Warm and comfy in his trackies, Julian’s hands holding onto his little waist, singing along to the songs they’ve recorded for the album. And also, maybe, the brownies sat in front of them (special delivery, courtesy of Louis) have something to do with it.

Either way, Niall’s happy. He’s lazy happy, silly happy, tired happy, all rolled into one. The night’s been good to him. They’ve been productive, the brownies are nice, and, god, has Niall mentioned how much he likes sitting there. In Julian’s lap. Fuck, he likes it a lot.

He turns back to look at Julian, stare deep into his big green eyes and do what, he doesn’t know. But Julian just grins up at him and reaches a hand up to brush crumbs off the edge of Niall’s lips.

“Such a messy boy,” he says with a smile on his face. Niall smiles back at him, and keeps smiling as Julian leans up to kiss him. He presses soft pecks into every crevice of Niall’s smile: his cupid bow, the edges of his mouth that curve just slightly, the little hint of teeth that peek out as he tries not to laugh.

Suddenly Niall’s mind comes back to him, he’s reminded of something that feels like it’s been sitting on the edge of his brain waiting to tumble back into consciousness, and he pulls back. His eyes drift past Julian’s head to where John’s sat, doing his own work on the computer. His back’s turned to them, his headphones on and probably blasting music, but it’s not like he’s dead to the world. It’s not like he can’t turn around for one second and watch them doing this. He’s not dumb; he can connect dots.

“Stop,” Niall says as Julian leans forward to try and kiss him again. He brings a hand up to Julian’s shoulder to keep him at bay, and Julian just sits back and tilts his head.

“John’s in here,” Niall whispers, “He could see,”

Julian narrows his eyes, “You’ve been sitting on my lap for the better part of an hour. I think he’s patched something together,”

He turns his attention back to John. It’s hard to remember now what they’ve been doing the whole time. He can’t recall if John’s been sitting staring at his monitor for an hour, or if he got up at some point. If he spared a look at Julian’s hand placement, or if he just logically put together that Niall sitting in laps isn’t a common occurrence. The thought makes his chest constrict.

“John’s cool,” Julian says, reading Niall’s mind, “He wouldn’t say anything. He’d get it,”

“Does he already know?” Niall asks quickly. They hadn’t—hadn’t discussed this. Julian shakes his head, and he’s never lied before.

It’s just that Niall hasn’t told anyone, save Willie. And he’s been so good at keeping the secret, so good at brushing past questions and making up excuses. He’s got this all pat down, almost a science. And now he’s being asked to throw it all away.

“Just…” Julian continues, “Just let me have this one person,”

He looks up at Niall, not prying but asking. And Niall hadn’t even thought or considered that Julian would want someone to know. It’s not as if it’s some big thing, some big revelation that needs to be shouted from the rooftops. But maybe he’s missed something. Maybe he’s missed how Julian will look at him and stare into his soul, grab him harder around the waist with a tight-lipped frown.

“Okay,” Niall whispers.

“Okay?” Julian says back.

Niall nods and Julian leans in to kiss him. Niall’s lips part and he sighs, relaxes into the feeling that it’s _okay_. And even if he’s not sure of it, he’s confident that Julian is sure of it. He just closes his eyes, closes his mind, and feels out the butterflies in his stomach, right where Julian’s fingers rest. They kiss until Niall’s mouth goes dry, and they kiss until Niall stops caring.

“Okay,” Julian says as he pulls back. Niall opens his eyes to find him leaning back in his chair, smiling up at the ceiling, “You need to get off now,”

Niall pouts, “Why?”

“Because I’ve got your team breathing down my neck right now to get your album done, and you’re being about just as distracting as humanly possible,”

He runs a hand over Julian’s head, stopping at the back to scratch there. Julian leans into it but stands strong.

“Don’t make me count to ten,”

“Do I need to leave the room?” Niall asks.

“I need you get off my lap. Wherever you go after that is up to you,”

“Fine,” Niall concedes, but he leans forward for one last kiss before he goes. He trudges over to the sofa, ignoring the way Julian adjusts his khakis once he’s gone, and looks over to John’s area. He’s still silent, back still turned towards them, and Niall can’t find the energy to keep wondering what might’ve happened when he wasn’t looking.

“The final touches, then?” Niall yells as he lies back on the sofa. It’s not even remotely comfortable, but the bed seems just _too_ comfortable so he’ll have to make do.

“Little tweaks, little extra spots that need perfecting, you know,”

Niall knows. He leans up to take a picture, chooses a filter, and posts it to Instagram. His head hits the pillow before he remembers telling it to, and that’s all there is to it.

\--

“Wake up sleepy head,” Niall hears as the world around him comes rushing back to consciousness. He can hear someone humming softly, and he can feel fingers brushing over the curve of his ear. He feels perfect like this. That other person can go to hell.

“Seriously, wake the fuck up,” Julian says, and Niall’s eyes shoot open to find him crouched over the sofa. Niall wipes a hand over his eyes and looks around. It’s just them now, and mostly everything in the room has been turned off, save the light in the bathroom.

“What’s your problem?” he manages to make out.

“We’re going to bed,”

“I’m already in bed,”

Julian laughs, “You’re in sofa. Big difference,”

He gets helped off the sofa by two big hands, one holding onto his shoulder the other grasping him ‘round the back. And, slowly but surely, the two of them make it across the room so that Niall can dump himself on the bed. He shoves his face into a pillow and breathes deep. It smells like nothing.

Julian putters around in the bathroom while Niall readies himself. He gets out of his bottoms and shirt and shimmies his way under the covers. Like every other fucking hotel room in America it’s completely freezing, and he curls up into a ball to conserve heat. Julian eventually finds his way out of the bathroom, and Niall can hear him making noise all around the room. Finally he settles down into the covers next to Niall, face lit up too bright by his phone.

“Hey,” Niall says, Julian stares down at him, his pupils illuminated by whatever he’s doing.

“Thought you were asleep,” Julian says before turning his attention back to his screen.

“Was just thinking,”

Niall smacks his lips together, they feel dry even if they haven’t been smoking. Like his mouth’s been all Pavlov’d to react that way to weed, or to Julian. He can’t tell.

“Thinking about what, babe?” Julian says back.

Niall thinks a lot. He thinks too much, probably, though no one has ever told him that. And he thinks about Julian a lot, just because they spend time together and he tends to smell nice and hold Niall just how he likes it. It’s how his brain works; he can’t help it.

“Whenever we go to sleep, yeah?”

Julian nods, Niall continues, “You always roll over your side,”

“I like sleeping on my side,”

“Yeah? Well sleep on your side with me,”

Julian stops tapping away on his phone and whips his head to look down at Niall. Sometimes Niall feels like, along with the thinking, he might say too much. But now it feels right.

“What are you asking for?”

Niall rolls his eyes. This isn’t hard to understand.

“Fucking… spoon me,”

Julian grins and reaches down to rub circles on his shoulders. Niall closes his eyes and waits for the bright of Julian’s screen to go dark, and he can feel the sheets rustle and hear the mattress squeak as Julian rearranges himself. One big arm comes to lay over him, folded in just the right way, while the other tucks itself between both of their chests. Niall smiles, it’s all he can do.

“You happy?” Julian asks, and he can almost hear the smile in that, too.

“Yeah,” Niall says.

And he’s so happy (so, so thrilled) that it’s dark in the room and he couldn’t see Julian’s face, even if he tried. Because he doesn’t know if he can handle that, handle staring up to find someone so content and relaxed to just lie there with him, hold him just how he wants, and feel their bodies meld together. He doesn’t get how anyone could just do that and not fall in love. So he takes a deep breath and tips his head forward until it hits a chest, and doesn’t worry about anything. Just falls asleep.

**

It takes a while for Niall to notice, but it hits him like a ton of bricks when he does. It’d gone past his attention all day: people not responding to his questions, not laughing at his jokes, looking past him like he hasn’t just said something. And then it hits him. He hasn’t just said something.

Every time he opens his mouth nothing comes out. His hands scrabble at his throat and he can feel the vibrations, feel the words crawling slowly out of his body as he tries to say something, anything. But they get lost in his mouth, and die a silent death.

He searches out a mirror and finds one in his dressing room. He looks normal. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pink-tinted skin, spots of brown speckled around it. And if you were to look at him, you’d think nothing’s wrong. Except he opens his mouth, and Niall can feel it.

There’s an energy building inside him, and it to stop it from exploding he ventures out of the room. Somebody, surely, has to recognize him, and recognize his silence. Someone has to hear the absence of his laugh, of his songs, of his thoughts. But with each passing face no one even tries to glance at him, and no one tries to figure it out.

He ends up standing in the middle of the corridor as every person he’s ever known files past him, skirting around him without a second glance. He throws his head back and opens his mouth, feels the itch of something trying to get out, but it fades to black before he can scratch it.

**

The girl’s fucking hot. She’s got deep brown hair, ironed straight and so sleek that it shines in the club’s lights. He could run his hands through it and it’d fall so clean and light through his fingers. And her skin’s gorgeous, a deep-set tan that would stand out against his pale skin, a few moles painted over her cheeks. She’s fit as hell, too, with long, lean legs and a set of perky tits. In any other instance she’d be perfect, except she’s flirting with Julian.

It’s obvious, too, is the thing. She keeps touching his arm, leaning forward to show off how good that crop top makes her chest look. And she’s already on her third beer, light and giggly with its effects. Niall doesn’t even know her name, but that doesn’t stop him from hating her.

“Fucking mean stare you’ve got going on,” Willie says. Niall hadn’t even noticed he was nearby, thought he was still by the bar trying to magically get Guinness to appear, “You’d think she’d be going after the famous pop star, not his producer,”

Niall grinds his teeth and squeezes at his bicep to remind himself not to bite at his fingers. He can’t tell in the dim light of the club, and especially not without glancing over, but Willie must be looking over at them and figuring something out. The girl’s his type, but not who he’s here for.

“I thought you said it was a one-time thing,” Willie says. So he does get it. Niall doesn’t have to say anything back.

“Your silence is more than enough proof, mate,”

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Niall bites back, “We didn’t stop after, he’s always on tour with us. There’s… ample opportunity,”

“You didn’t mention it,”

“Didn’t think I had to, did I?”

Niall turns his head and Willie’s just staring at him, hair all coiffed up with a nice blue shirt on. But he also sees so much of himself in his face, his family’s eyes and their tight-lipped smirks. He probably looks a bit more put-together at the moment, a bit less mean.

“Go get him,” Willie says. He nods his head in the general direction of Julian and Girl to get his point across.

“I can’t just fucking… go _get_ him. It’ll cause a scene, the big boybander refusing to let his entourage have fun without him,”

“You think you look any better looking like you’re gonna kill a bird on the dance floor?”

“I’ll just distract myself, then, get myself another one of these,” he holds up his glass that once held a nice, cold lager. Now there’s a centimeter of piss-warm yuck at the bottom and it’s so unappealing it almost makes him want to gag. Willie snatches it out of his hand and places both of their glasses on the table next to him.

“You’re not. This, right here,” he gestures in front of them, “is bothering you. You’re annoyed, you’re angry, you’re _something_ , alright? Do something about it. Stop pretending like this is a normal night out on the pull for you,”

Niall sighs, “Will you go get him, then? Tell him we’re thinking of leaving, or something,”

“No one’s thinking of leaving but you, so you have to be the one to do it,”

Willie looks expectant, now, like he’s not going to be doing shit other than watching Niall walk over there on his own. So Niall makes a big show of it, straightening out his collar so he’ll look presentable and sauntering over towards the thrumming crowd of dancers. He feigns confidence like he does so often in his life and walks right out there on the dance floor, bypassing writhing couples and wandering hands. He finds Julian and Girl closer than ever, her lips ghosting dangerously closer to his cheek. Niall puts a stop to it immediately, brushing a hand up Julian’s arm and grabbing his shoulder. Julian’s face drops when he sees who’s there; Niall ignores it.

“Can I help you?” Julian says.

He cocks his head and licks his lips. The girl’s still got a finger on his collarbone, there’s still a few drops of vodka and coke left in his glass. There shouldn’t be room for Niall in this equation.

“I need to talk to you,” Niall yells. It’s almost impossible to hear each other over the crashing din of the club, and it’s not really the place to be doing this.

“I’m a little busy, bro,” Julian says back. His eyes drift over to the girl, with a slick grin on his face.

She’s even prettier up close, and her hips are moving slightly to the beat of the random filler song they’ve got going on. She’s intoxicatingly beautiful, but all Niall can think about is how her eyes flicker over to him, how her face brightens when he moves closer. And he kicks himself for questioning who she’s really here for.

“It’ll just be a second, promise,” he says to her, a sickeningly-saccharine smile stretched over his face, as he grabs onto Julian’s shirt and pulls him away.

Julian reluctantly follows Niall back to the wall, where there’s less of a crush of people and more air to breathe. And Niall doesn’t know what he was expecting, like Julian would be grateful to be torn away from being flirted with. But he just stares Niall down and doesn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” Niall says, Julian blinks. “What was so important?”

His voice is hard, terse, so Niall just reaches down and brushes his fingers over Julian’s stomach. Over the soft, grey tee he has on, watching how it makes Julian shiver with just that touch.

“I don’t think you should go home with her,” Niall says, straight to the point.

“And why is that?”

Niall sighs, “Because you should go home with me,”

Julian takes a step back, Niall’s hand falling from his waist in the process, and smooths over his hair. He takes a deep breath, turns back to Girl, then looks at Niall again.

“You gonna call the car?”

Niall nods.

“Guess I have to say bye then, don’t I?”

Julian meets him out back, after both of them had said goodbye to _everyone_ necessary. Luckily, for Niall, the car pulls up just as the doors closes behind Julian. There’s no time for any awkward excuses, just scrabbling into seats in blessed silence. One of their security detail is at the wheel. They’re all the same: big guys, tight-lipped, quiet. Niall loves all of them.

New York speeds past them, seen through a patterned web of rain droplets collecting on the windows. It’s a kaleidoscope of loud colors: brilliant reds from stop lights, neon blue from signs on every corner, the harsh yellow of the streetlamps that lead them home. Niall distracts himself with it, running over each color as it passes by his sight. He’s only brought back to the present (to the night, to the car, to Julian at his side) when he feels a finger trace up the seam of his scar. He shivers and turns to his left, Julian’s face obscured by shadows.

“I wasn’t gonna take her home, you know?” Julian whispers.

Niall swallows hard, “Okay,”

“She was just flirting, people are allowed to flirt with me,”

“I didn’t say they aren’t,”

“You were acting like they aren’t,”

“Well then how was I supposed to act?”

“Kinda hard to tell when we keep dancing around the topic, isn’t it?”

Niall shrugs, feels goosepimples raise up and down his arms, but he relaxes at the touch of Julian’s head against his. He closes his eyes, even if he can’t see anything anyways, and waits.

“And you think I’d follow you all the way out here just to go home with some random girl? You think that’s why I’m here?”

Niall shakes his head.

“Well then stop acting like it is. I’m here for _you_ , okay? It’s always you,”

He can feel Julian squeeze his hand where it’s resting tense in his lap. But before he can say anything more Julian’s back in his seat and staring out the window.

The hotel is eerily quiet once they’ve pulled up and hurried in the back entrance. There’s a lull between the respectable people with respectable bed times and the people chasing excitement and dreams all across the city that never sleeps. They take advantage of it and slip in the elevator unnoticed. Julian notably stares at the screen as it ticks away the floors they’re passing.

Niall’s hands shake as he gets his key out and opens the door. Julian’s a heavy presence behind him, all silent breaths and hunched shoulders. At the very least he waits until the door is shut behind them to raise his voice.

“We need to talk,” Julian says, Niall turning to face him, “Now,”

Niall keeps walking back into the room. He turns on lights along the way, throws some rubbish in the bin, tidies the bottles on his table.

“I’m sorry,” he spits out, ridding his mouth of the words like they’re poisonous.

“I’m not looking for an apology,” Julian stops then starts, “Fuck, Niall, I’m not even mad. I just don’t like you fucking with my head,”

Niall turns sharply, “I’m not fucking with your head!”

“How am I supposed to read this, then? I can’t be a fucking mind reader. You can’t get upset just because someone was talking to me without telling me it’s against the rules!”

“I wasn’t upset!”

“Fuck, bro, you should’ve seen your face. You looked like I punched you in the gut,”

“I just…” Niall brings his hand up to his mouth to bite at his nails, “I just wanted you to choose me,”

Julian grabs his hand, “Then tell me. Before we even get to the club. Tell me what you want,”

“I’m sorry,” Niall says.

“I don’t want apologies!” Julian yells, “I just want you to talk to me,”

Niall takes a step forward and braces himself for Julian to take his back. But he just lets Niall inch closers, little inches along the carpet, until Niall can lean forward and pull their bodies together. He shows some restraint and just looks up at Julian, chest tight with how he’s handling this whole thing.

“I know,” he says, “But I have to. I have to apologize for not being easy,”

“Well,” Julian looks off to the side, “Never said that,”

He smiles and reaches down to pull at one of Niall’s belt loops. They fall together easily, Julian holding them close as they kiss. Niall feels a hand snake its way around to his back, and he grabs onto Julian’s arms, closes his eyes, and just lets himself feel it.

“Tell me,” Julian says as he leans back and starts kissing down Niall’s jaw, “what you want,”

“Fuck me,”

“Fuck you how?”

Niall gasps as one of Julian’s hands sneaks its way down the back of his jeans, palming his bum and slipping its way into his crack. He can barely think like this.

“Hard,”

After that it’s a blur of Julian’s hands ridding him of his clothes, bites along the side of his neck and the insides of his thigh, slick fingers loosening him up. Along the way he seems to get across that he wants it on his hands and knees, fucked from behind, hard and fast like they never seem to get to. But he doesn’t mention how much he’s been thinking about it, whenever he gets the chance, dreaming of Julian pounding into him.

Julian gets naked without his help, and he nabs lube and condom from the bathroom.

“Come on,” he says with his hands on Niall’s waist, “You wanna turn over?”

Niall nods his heads and gets onto his knees. He feels shaky, unnerved, but he loves it.

“You feeling okay?” Julian asks, and he waits for Niall to nod and say “Yeah, go,” before he lines up and pushes in.

Niall’s head immediately drops to his forearms. He pants hotly against his own skin, feeling the slow ease of Julian’s fat cock in him. He can feel his own dick between his legs, feeling small and imperfect against the one fucking him open. Usually Julian goes slow, but at the first sign of Niall getting eager, getting impatient, fucking himself back on Julian’s dick, he speeds up. The slap of their skin together sounds obscene now that they’re taking it fast, a dirty reminder of how bad Niall feels he needs this.

“Fucking hot,” Julian says behind him, grabbing onto his hips and really giving it to him, “God, such a perfect body. Always want to think about you like this, just on your knees and waiting for me. Loving it so much, too much,”

Niall garbles out breathy moans, shaky affirmations that he _loves_ this, in all its lewd glory.

He falls from his hands to his forearms to his chest in quick time, losing all desire to try and keep himself up. He feels the harsh hotel bedsheets against his skin, prickling his hot and shaky skin.

“You alright?” he hears from behind, and he mewls out a weak “Keep going,”

Julian falls over his back, their hot skin aligned together, and he pants into the safety of the bed. It’s altogether too much, too hot, too prickly, but just right. He slips in and out of clarity, Julian whispering naughty words into his ear, before he’s coming. Hot, and too-much, and sticky against the sheets. Without even touching himself, grimacing with every spurt of come from his dick.

“Fuck,” Julian says as he pulls out. Niall moves to try and get him to keep going, have him come himself, but it’s useless. His hands fall down and his words fall flat. Julian comes to lay next to him, hugging him around his shoulders and kissing his heated skin.

“You can finish,” he manages to say, but Julian just shushes him and Niall drops the subject. He just breathes through his shivers, feels out the press of Julian’s lips against his spine, and gets his mind back.

**

“Niall, if you had to be stuck in one day for the rest of your life, which would it be?”

Harry’s laid out on a pool lounger, swim shorts sitting dangerously low on his little hips and skin browning fast in the hot sun. He looks ridiculous, like always, in his little, yellow shorts and a towel thrown over his head to keep his scalp from burning. It matches the questions he’s been asking for the past hour. As if after one joint he forgets how to have a normal conversation.

“What, like Tuesday?”

“No, wanker. Like twenty-four hours. Eyes open to eyes shut. Something you already did,”

His face is wide-set in a stupid grin and with every vowel he chooses his lips pucker into an obscene ‘o’. Niall breaks his Harry-focused stupor long enough to reply.

“Dunno, really. Too many to choose from,”

Harry closes an eye and points a finger at him, “Gun to your head, choose something, go,”

“Fuck, um. Like getting together on the X Factor was good, then making _through_ to the live shows was ace, too. Or when Theo was born. My birthday last year. My charity footie match. Wembley,”

“Ten seconds or I shoot!”

Niall wants to ask _Shoot what?_ but instead he blurts out, “Madison Square Garden,”

Harry grins and tilts his head back so it thunks against the cushions. He spreads his legs and rubs his big hand over his ink (the birds first, then the moth, finally the laurels) and he looks so blissed out Niall’s worried he fell asleep.

“That’s a fucking good one, Niall,”

It’s such a stupid question, such a stupid answer, and there’s no sort of meaning or thought involved. But the words still make Niall smile, and he puts his sunglasses on to hide the twinkle in his eye.

“Madison Square… like. What a fucking night. Do you remember it?”

“No, you wanker, I want to relive it cos I can’t remember shit,”

Niall rolls his eyes but Harry continues as if Niall hadn’t just said anything.

“Felt like kings, we did. Like nothing could ever bring us down, ever change. Our parents were there, our friends, girlfriends. Everything, everyone. I remember thinking the whole day and night. _Don’t let this be a dream. Don’t let this be a dream. Make it real_. No matter what I did, because it was all special. Right down to the most mundane of things, like getting in the elevator to go to band breakfast or brushing my teeth. I don’t know if we’ll ever get a day like that again, where we feel untouchable,”

“So we gonna share, then?”

“Bro, get your own fucking joint,”

“No, fuck, gonna share that day. We gonna relive it together?”

Harry turns his face and Niall stares back at him, “Yeah, bro. Over and over again,”

“So speaking of that, would you-”

“Speaking of what?”

“Days spent together,”

“Okay,”

“Well, Rory’s found himself with an extra ticket if you wanted to go with us? Thought you could leave LA for a few days and come with me,”

“Niall, don’t be silly. I’m going to be at home, remember?”

Niall frowns, “No, you told me you’d be staying back in LA,”

“That was a few weeks ago. Changed my mind since then,”

Niall grits his teeth. It’s not that Harry can’t go home, and it’s not that Harry needs to spend all of his living day with Niall, it’s that Niall can’t seem to get him to sit still. They love golf, _Harry_ loves golf, and it shouldn’t be a chore to try and get them all together to do something they all love. But lately it’s been seeming like no matter how hard he tries, no matter what he chooses, Niall can’t find something to nail Harry down. It’s like losing the part of their friendship that’s kept them close. Harry doesn’t have to always do whatever Niall wants, Niall just wishes he’d choose him sometimes.

“What’s that scowl about, then?”

Niall startles and turns his head to find Harry staring at him. He hadn’t meant to change his face.

“Not… it’s just a face,”

“It’s the face you make when you’re angry,”

And, well, Niall didn’t know that.

“You said you were staying here,” Niall says, the words rushing out of his mouth as if they were being pulled.

“Thought you’d be thrilled I was going home, really. You’ve always said I spend too much time in LA, that I should start calling Jeff and Glenn my real parents,”

Niall grits his teeth, “God, just… never fucking mind,”

Harry sits up quickly and whips the shades off his head. His towel falls limply down his back, and he stares straight at Niall.

“You’re genuinely angry,” he says.

Niall considers lying, because he supposes it’s not like he can _fault_ Harry for wanting to see his family. But it moved beyond that ages ago, long before he even knew what he was doing with himself on this break.

“Yeah, fuck me for getting annoyed when every time I ask you to do something you’ve already got a canned response to give,”

“I really don’t understand what you’re mad about!” he yells.

Niall turns his head and scans the pool deck for anyone else, but they’re still alone. He turns his attention back to Harry and curls his toes.

“You’re always fucking gone, Harry. Getting to hang out with you means doing it on _your_ time, when it’s convenient for _you_ , as if we’re all just going to schedule our days around your needs,”

Harry’s scowling now, that one he gets when he’s annoyed and someone’s taken a joke too far. But he doesn’t usually get that way with Niall, and never because he’s angry.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to ask for your permission to buy my flights? Clear it with your PA?”

It’s Niall’s turn to be mad, now, and he sits up and leans forward to stare back at Harry. It’s not as if he should have to be yelled at, to be made to feel lesser or dumb for just feeling a certain way. He has a say in this, too.

“Fuck off, Harry, you know what I mean,” he says, his accent growing thicker with every angry, passing moment.

“Is this the face of someone who gets it?”

“What’s there not to get? You spend all your free time fucked off in LA with your celebrity friends, as if we don’t have a fucking band here. And any time you come back, you just bring stories of solo writes and business meetings that we don’t get to be a part of. Do you know how little that makes us feel?”

Harry plants his hands on his knees and leans back. He sucks a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring wide, and his fingers tighten along the tanned skin of his legs.

“You think you don’t check out? You think you’ve been so fucking easy to find? That you don’t just run off after concert, chasing sport idols and pop stars around the country?”

Niall grunts and rolls his eyes, “Fuck, Harry, it’s not like-”

“No, Niall, don’t fucking explain yourself because I’m not mad about it. You act like it’s a sin to have friends, to have connections, to fucking think about the future. Well think about this: I’m not going anywhere, but I’d be daft to ignore that there’s life after this band. We’re going on a hiatus, for fuck’s sake. I can’t just sit around Cheshire smelling candles,”

“I never asked you to!” Niall yells, and he’s sure they’re attracting attention now, and sooner or later someone’s going to come asking questions.

“If you’re going to act like this, then, I’m gonna leave,” Harry says as he stands, casting a shadow over Niall’s lounger. He gathers his things (hotel towel, farmer hat, sandals) and shoves them in his arms. Usually Niall would be one to tell him to stay, to make some line about _not going to bed angry_ , but he can’t do it. He feels angry, he _is_ angry, and it’s the first time in a long time he’s able to admit it. And even though it feels rancid and foreign bubbled up inside him, it finally feels right.

“I can’t believe you’re acting like a child,”

Harry sneers and turns back to face Niall, his face frozen in a hard, unyielding line.

“Go disappear for hours like you do after every show, go lock yourself in a hotel room and make up some shitty excuse for afterwards. Wouldn’t want to distract you from your hobby,”

He leaves the courtyard in a stomping frenzy, sandals making little _clacks_ as they leave behind a wet trail out the door. Niall looks after him until he’s gone from view, a strange and unsettling silence resting between him and the birds and thick, humid air around him. He rests his elbows on his knees, clasps his hands behind his neck, and leans forward until he can feel the stretch in his back. With closed eyes he breathes deep, tastes the chlorine and the clean air deep in his throat, and panics.

**

Niall bangs on Julian's door and is let in without a question. There's music on low in the back and it's warm and humid, like Julian's just got out of the shower. Niall just stands at the side and can't wrap his mind what he meant to do there.

"You okay?" Julian asks. His face has fallen and his hands reach out, looking for something to touch, "You like...have a nightmare, or-"

"No!" Niall yells, disregarding what that question implies.

"Then, just, tell me what's going on,"

Niall acts like he's gonna explain himself, but he ends up sputtering out nonsense and falling onto the bed. He smushes his face into the comforter and waits for Julian to come sit next to him, maybe rub his back and scratch circles into his shoulders with his nails. And he does.

“I just…” Niall starts. He lets out a deep breath, filling his diaphragm with it, “I had a fight with Harry,” he decides upon.

“A bad one?”

“I dunno,” Niall tries to shrug in his awkward position, “We don’t ever row,”

“You mean, like… ever,”

Niall shakes his head.

“Well, then what was it about?” Julian asks.

“You know…after it happened it was easy to want some space. Everyone wanted to deal with it on their own, wanted to have a chance to gauge their own reaction. But I felt it would come back together, you know? We’d get the old us back and it’d just feel right again. It just hasn’t,”

“Have you ever talked about it together?” Julian asks, “Zayn?”

Niall shudders at the mention of his name. He hasn’t heard someone say it in a long time, and he doesn’t want to figure out how long it’s been. Maybe months.

“I… we don’t… it’s just not something we talk about,”

“Why not?”

Niall sits up. His head spins with something he doesn’t understand, but he just feels like it should be _obvious_.

“What’s there to talk about?” he asks, his voice tinged with more edge than he wanted, “He left. It wasn’t our decision but we have to deal with it. We can’t change it. There’s nothing to say,”

“Well, fuck, yeah, you didn’t decide on it. But it affects you, so if you’ve got to talk about it, babe,”

“It’s not that easy,” he explains, then starts picking at the rough skin around his finger nails. Julian grabs his wrist and forces his hands apart, demanding his attention.

“You’re not getting out of this easy. _You_ came here, _you_ made the decision to seek me out. I’m not forcing you into anything here. Stop clamming up the moment I try to even hint at your emotions, like you’re trying to pretend you exist without them,”

“Who said anything about-”

“You keep coming to me to be fucked out of your mind because that’s your way of dealing with it,” Julian interrupts him, “Fine, whatever, keep at it. But then why do you keep pushing me away when I try to talk to you about anything more than music and weed. Why do you crave my physical support so bad but push away my emotional support? I’m trying to help you and it fucking sucks when you disregard that and just get on your knees,”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Julian, is that what you really think of me?”

“You know what, I’m not gonna sugar-coat it. I’m not gonna pretend like I feel like we have anything better going on here. Because sometimes it feels like I give you a whole-fucking-lot, and I expect for you to open up and really treat _us_ like something more than a good lay. Well fucking sorry for making that mistake,”

“Fuck!” Niall screams, “I didn’t realize I always had to bare myself open for everyone,”

“Then why try to pretend like these fucking insane, world-changing events don’t bother you? Why try to play it off like you’re not mad at Z-”

“Because he’s my mate, one of my best mates, and you can’t just-”

“You can’t just go through life in a neutral state because you’re afraid of ruffling a few feathers! Look at you, what good has this done? Now you’re just lashing out at everyone, and see where that’s gotten you,” Julian says, and he gets up from the bed and runs a hand through his hair, “You don’t want to be mad? You’re already fucking mad. At Harry. At _me_. I’m mad at you! Because people get mad and that’s a part of life, and then the next part of life is fucking getting over it and working through your shit. But you’re stuck in a different world, where no one ever has to do that,”

Niall stops and squeezes his thighs. It doesn’t hurt, just brings him back.

“And you think it’s annoying?” he asks.

“Fuck, Niall,” Julian says, “That’s what you’re taking out of this? How _I_ feel? I’m worried for you. I want you to feel better, to just fucking feel in the first place,”

“Maybe it’s better if I just go then,”

Julian waves his hand and blows him off.

“That’s what you want? Go ahead. Keep on ignoring what I’m trying to say,”

Niall thinks it over, looks Julian in the eye, and goes through the door.

**

Niall’s eyes flutter closed and he can feel hands dancing their way up his sides, he wiggles his hips and feels his stomach move as he tries to suppress a laugh.

“You’re too ticklish,”  

He opens his eyes and finds brown ones staring back at him, twinkling and soft. Zayn blinks and his lashes flutter close, falling softly against his cheekbones to match his restrained smile. It’s not every day he gets to be like this, just relaxed and content.

“Never had a problem with it before,” Niall says back.

“Not a problem,” Zayn leans back as he grabs something from between the sheets, “I like when you get like this. All sensitive and needy,”

Niall would protest, but he hears the sounds of a condom being rolled on and closes his eyes. He likes to wait for it like this, with an element of anticipation and surprise. If he keeps his eyes open sometimes he’ll grimace before the initial push in, and they’ll think he’s in pain or doesn’t want it. Which is the furthest point possible from the truth. Sometimes it scares Niall how much it wants it, how much he’s willing to give up for it. What he’s willing to do, say, feel, just to get fucked.

“Always you,” Zayn says, then lines himself up and leans forward. Niall can feel the stretch in his stomach, in his legs, but he just breathes through it.

“Every fucking time,”

Niall’s eyes open just in time for the push, for Zayn to lean forward and kiss him, to catch the little smile on his face.

\--

Niall’s eyes open to darkness, his hand fastened tight to a bunch in the hotel bedsheets. His heart’s beating fast, mouth open and dry as if he’d been talking. There’s a pit in his stomach threatening to undo him, and he runs to the bathroom. He makes it to the toilet just in time for nothing to come out, dry heaves racking his body like they’re trying to get those images out of his mind. The eyes, the hands, his own happiness. He falls back against a wall after he can’t take it anymore, no use at all.

His phone’s back on the nightstand, plugged in and already fully-charged. He returns back to the bathroom with it in hand, but he catches the ghastly sight of himself in the mirror. His face, pale, and his eyes glistening with tears at the corners. He gives a last-ditch effort at breathing, but they fall short and it still feels as if his chest is filled with water. (That’s how it was described to him once, back when he had his first and he thought he was dying.) He tries to do the mental math in his head to find the time in Ireland, finds his mind useless, and deems his call important enough to pass as an emergency.

Thankfully, Bressie answers.

“Chief, you’re up late,” he says. His Irish accent is heavy with time spent in the ‘gar. Niall wishes so badly to join him.

“Just… woke up,” he manages to get out. Sometimes, when he gets like this, he feels like his throat is going to close up, and he won’t be able to breathe or talk or scream.

“You sound wrecked, mate, you’re not well,”

“It’s just, like, a nightmare,”

There’s a pause before Bressie replies, “Thought you said those were over with?”

“It’s just this one,” Niall lies.

“And you’ve tried the breathing?”

Tears prickle at his eyes and he can’t tell why. It’s just what happens, he supposes. “Yeah, I just can’t. It’s tight,”

He presses his back to the wall and slides down it until he’s seated in front of the sink, out of the scrutiny of the mirror.

“You sure you’re doing alright?”

“Just need a little extra help,”

“Open your eyes,” Niall does, “and tell me something you see,”

“My feet,”

“Okay, now pull the muscles tight in your feet, ‘til they feel like a ball,”

He does, arches aching, and holds it until Bressie starts telling him to let go. Starting with his toes, then moving through the rest of his feet until they rest flat on the ground again.

“Now tell me something you can taste,”

“Morning breath,”

Bressie laughs, “Great, now tense your face and relax it as I say,”

Niall screws up his face, and lets go of his jaw, eyes, and cheeks as they get sore.

“Now tell me something you hear,”

“Bathroom fan,”

“Do your shoulders and back now,”

Niall listens, going through the motions as Bressie directs.

“And something you can feel?”

Niall reaches his hand down to the floor and spreads his fingers wide over the marble.

“Tile,”

“Do your hands and arms,”

Niall tenses and relaxes from his shoulders to his fingertips.

“And tell me what you smell?”

Niall breathes in, “Cleaner,”

“And how big of a breath did you just take?”

Niall does it again, fills his lungs up until he can’t breathe, and lets the air out in one continuous breath. There’s no weight breaking his ribs and no constriction anywhere. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Big,”

He imagines Bressie there with him, imagines his big smile.

“Glad to hear it, chief. Tell me how you feel otherwise,”

“Better,”

“I meant in what way,”

“Can breathe, which is great. And I don’t feel so jittery. Feel like scattered. Can concentrate, you know? Not feel like every bad feeling is rushing at me,”

There’s a silence, Niall sitting with his fingers tucked into his mouth waiting for Bressie to fill it, mind crowding with what he might have to say.

“I thought you said you were getting better, Nialler,”

There’s disappointment stuck in there, or maybe even sadness. He hasn’t spoken to Bressie in a while, not since tour started, probably, and he probably was feeling better then. It wasn’t really a lie.

“It’s just a one-time thing, you know? These sneak up on you,”

“I know they do, but that was a bad one,”

“It wasn’t-”

“Don’t bullshit me. I’ve been having them for longer, I know a bad one,”

“It was bad, okay, but it doesn’t mean-”

“I told you,” Bressie interrupts him again, “When you first had trouble with this I told you to talk to me,”

“Why do you think I called you?”

“I didn’t mean in emergencies, I didn’t mean _only_ when I was a last resort. I meant just to talk, to hash out feelings, talk the shit, get things off your chest,”

“What? You want me to bother you with the stupid shit going on in my life?”

“I’ve experienced it all, okay?” Bressie says, and it sounds less angry, now, less annoyed, more concerned, dusted with a layer of sad, “I know you’re going through some rare, unexpected shit but it doesn’t mean I haven’t felt like you. I know pain, loneliness, fear, rejection, heartbreak, you name it. I’m a human; I’ve gone through everything,”

“I _know_ , Brez. It’s just… hard,”

Bressie sighs on the other end, stuck in Ireland, probably already having gone for a ride or a run that morning. Niall knows he’s seen his hardships in the past, and knows that it’s not like he lives through life without any remnants of it, but he’s still got his shit together. Niall’s still waiting for that.

“I just worry about you, all the time. Ever since you showed up on my doorstep asking for guitar lessons, crooked teeth and rosy cheeks. You’re living some mental life, mate, and you’ve been doing spectacularly well for years. Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you, doesn’t mean I can’t try and help,”

“You _do_ help. I’d be out of my mind if you didn’t give me ways to get it back,” Niall mutters.

“Then why don’t you stay on the line. Let’s talk. Doesn’t have to be about anything in particular, just talk. Haven’t heard from you ages. You’re not rushing off to sleep, are you?”

“Nah, kinda wired now. Don’t wanna put you off, though,”

“Nonsense, as long as you don’t mind me eating. I’m starving,”

Niall smiles. He doesn’t send tense anymore, or concerned. Just calm, cheery, funny. The Bressie he met before he got big and famous and someone to be worried over, “Go on, big head. Stuff your face,”

“Tell me about your big pop life, then. Got any birds on the horizon?”

Niall chuckles and gets off the ground, aiming for the bed. He disregards that last question entirely and launches into a rant about the AC in hotel rooms.

**

Niall doesn’t sleep the rest of the night. He lets Bressie go and continue on with his life, but his brain won’t stop rushing. He feels at a precipice in his life, like whichever way he leans he’ll start tumbling down and be unable to stop. His mind keeps switching to Julian, then Harry, then Zayn, then the future, and circling around them all until he gets dizzy with it. Sometimes when he closes his eyes he can see the movement of every worry physically moving through his mind, like they’re trying to fight over space to wreck Niall’s good time. And he doesn’t know how to control it, yet, but he figures it hasn’t helped that he hasn’t been trying.

He texts the band around 5am that he wants band breakfast. He figures they’ll probably see the time and figure something’s up, but they all agree to it as they rouse themselves from sleep hours after Niall stopped trying. Liam’s room is chosen as Central, since it’s his turn to host, and Niall throws on a pair of shorts to make his way down there. There’s a knot in his stomach and he has to thrust his hands in his pockets to keep from biting at his nails, but he trudges his way down the echoing hotel corridor. He shouldn’t be afraid of his mates—and he isn’t, not really—but he always feels like they’re about to throw him through a loop.

Before, ages ago, back when they were just wee lads freshly thrown together, they could read each other so easily that it seemed scary. They could predict what another boy was gonna say, do, feel, react, anything, as if they had been friends since diapers and not for mere weeks. But years later, they’ve grown separately and found themselves as their own individuals. And while that’s great for personal development and character, sometimes it feels like they’re at a crossroads where they can look in one direction and see the past, see what was always laid out so bare. Or they can look forward, and see a giant fucking question mark, all done up in neon lights that seem to antagonize them. Niall just looks straight ahead, grasps the door handle in front of him, and walks in on a guess.

Niall doesn’t know what he expects, but what he finds is Liam stuffing his face with an omelet and Louis distractedly staring at his phone, bowl of cereal nested in his lap. Harry doesn’t look back at him as he enters, but Niall can tell from the line of his shoulders that he’s still angry. It’s not like he expected that to be resolved, just was surprised he could tell.

He considers grabbing himself a bagel first, maybe clearing his throat with some tea, but the more he thinks about it the more he realizes he’ll never get up the nerve if he keeps putting it off. So he silently moves towards the center of the room, until every single set of eyes can easily land themselves upon his open face. They look up at him, one by one, until he has their undivided attention, and he can see in their faces that they get what he’s going to do, that he’s going to _say_ something and it’s going to be big.

The last time they met like this there was one more person in the room. A red hoodie, ripped skinny jeans, bare feet. And the last time they met like this, each person left with a different worry seeped into their brain. Over logistics, musical arrangements, public announcements, promises. And Niall can still see those worries burned into his bandmates’ faces, as they stare at him in concern, anxiety, and complete ignorance as to what he’ll say next.

“I need to tell you all something,” he says, and it’s obvious they’re hanging onto every word he says, waiting for him to break their hearts. He almost wishes they would distract themselves with something else, just to make it easier.

“Go ahead,” Liam encourages him. He smiles weakly, waves his hand to get Niall to move. God, Niall loves him. Can feel the support just radiate off him, and always has been able to.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, the collective room’s heartrate bouncing off the wall, “and I don’t mean to freak you all out. But it’s easier to tell you all at once, rather than putting it off one by one. And no one deserves to know first. It’s for all of you,”

They blink back at him, and Niall stops guessing how they’ll react or what they’re gonna say. He’s already roped himself into the reveal, and he won’t let himself out of it so soon. So he opens his mouth and the words tumble out.

“I just wanted to say that I’m, like, kinda… not-straight,”

He expects someone to say something, but he doesn’t even get that. Everyone is silent. Niall wonders if they misheard, or if they’re thinking they misheard.

“All tour I’ve been hanging out with someone, for lack of a better word,”

“Dating?” someone says, and Niall realizes seconds later that it’s Louis.

“No. That’s really specific. Just like… hooking up, I guess. We’ve had a thing,”

“And that someone’s a guy?”

Niall nods and sticks his fingers in his mouth. His nails have already been bitten down to nubs and there’re no dry pieces of skin left to bite. There’s nothing for him to do with his fingers but bite them to keep him in the moment.

“Do you mind telling us who?”

That’s Harry. And that’s so Harry, to want to know the details. But he guesses he owes this to them all, for keeping them in the dark for no reason other than he wanted something to himself.

“It’s um. Well, you know him. He’s around sometimes. You might rather like him. Great guy, really,”

There’s a communal face of _spit it the fuck out, Niall_ , so he gets on with it.

“Julian, okay? It’s Julian,”

Louis startles, “Julian? As in Julian?”

“Julian as in looks like Jesus and is a wizard with our music, yes. We’ve been kinda hooking up for a while now, and I guess that’s why I’ve been kinda unreachable at times. He’s been helping me… relax and feel better about everything. But I didn’t want you guys to know because it’s new, you know? Not just him… the idea of him, being a him. That it’s a guy,”

Harry looks like he’s about to cry and Niall doesn’t get it, “Niall, of course we understand. We’d never drop you for something like this,”

“I know,” he sighs, “But for a while I didn’t even know what to say. Didn’t know how to explain it. Didn’t really feel the need to, you know? It was just a thing,”

“Define _thing_ ,” Louis says.

Niall laughs and covers his mouth with his hand, “Funny you should ask that, because Julian’s been asking that for a while,”

“Niall, come sit down with us,” Liam demands as he scoots over and makes room on the sofa. Niall had forgotten he was standing, even, and he plops himself onto the cushions. Liam wraps an arm around his back, fingers playing aimlessly across his shoulder, “You shouldn’t have to stand. You’re not on trial,”

“I know,” Niall rushes to say, “but I felt like I had to explain why I’ve been distant lately. He’s been helping me out,”

“You could’ve told us,” Harry repeats.

“I _know_ ,”

“I just… fuck, if there’s something you can tell us, it’s that. I don’t want you feeling like you can’t, okay? I can’t imagine something worse than feeling like your friends won’t understand,”

“It’s not that you wouldn’t understand it’s just… how do you explain it? I was trying to keep up, trying to keep happy and energetic and just myself onstage, and I felt like I was doing a good job of it. But sometimes, not all the time, offstage it’d just fall apart,”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Louis asks, “We were always there,”

“Because losing yourself, even if only for a few hours at a time, fucking sucks!” he yells, “And Julian just… if I was with him I’d forget. I’d forget that I was sad and angry and hurt, and I didn’t have these constant reminders that I still had the spotlight on me and I still had to continue with something that’d started breaking. Julian… wasn’t a reminder. He was new. He was easy. He didn’t make me talk. He just made me happy, it was simple,”

Liam frowns, “And we weren’t easy?”

“You were all reminders. You all adopted things because of Zayn, we all did. But when I was trying my fucking hardest to move on from him, the last thing I wanted was to feel his presence everywhere I was. And I just… got used to him, I suppose. Being with Julian wasn’t so much a relief, as much something I just wanted,”

“So you’re in love?” Harry says.

Niall laughs and shakes his head, “Don’t think it matters much, now,” he rubs his hand over his eyes, “Kinda fucked it up,”

Harry moves without saying anything or giving any indication that he’s going to. He comes to Niall’s side, and makes room for himself where they doesn’t seem to be any, just to fit himself around Niall’s rigid shape. He rests his head on Niall’s shoulder, check pressed to the bone, and just breathes in.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t fix it,” he says, “People can change. They can forgive,”

He smiles and Niall smiles back, and when Harry holds out a fist, Niall takes the chance to bump his against it, as if that’s all that was needed.

“What can we do for you, then?” Louis asks. His cereal’s been abandoned, now, sitting lukewarm on the coffee table. Niall feels to important to have replaced Frosties in Louis’s mind, he almost wants to cry with it.

“Dunno,” Niall shrugs as best as he can with Harry’s and Liam’s bodies weighing him down, “Anyone got a time machine?”

That earns him a few awkward chuckles, but it’s not really a solution. He doesn’t really want to leave tour on bad terms with Julian, doesn’t want to feel responsible for it all, and doesn’t to mess up what’s become a years-long relationship with a good friend just because he wasn’t able to sort out his shit in time.

“There has to be something, mate,” Louis says, his voice low and gentle like it seldom is. He’s a brash and harrowing force of tight words and sneaky jibes, but he does get easy, too, and soft and pliant. Usually it’s reserved for his family, sometimes Eleanor back when she was around, and more recently Bri.

Apparently sometimes Niall, too.

“Well,” Niall says. There’s a guitar in the corner—Liam’s, the one Niall got him for his 21st with his initials carved on the back of the head—and Niall can’t get it out of his mind.

“I’m gonna tell you all a plan,” he continues, “And you can’t tell me it’s stupid or soppy or impossible. Just load up my ego and send me on my way,”

“We’ve been doing that for going on five years, don’t know why we’d stop now,” Liam says, and Niall elbows him in the side, a ridiculous smile painted on his face.

**

Niall walks down the corridor, guitar slung over his shoulder, bouncing lightly against the round of his arse. He grips onto the strap, feels it cut into his hand, then lets go as he reaches the door. It’s not exactly early, and mostly everyone in this hotel should be up. But still, Niall pauses in front of the door and stares at it. Its white, wooden face and the number screwed tightly into place on it. In any other city, at any other time, Niall probably wouldn’t gotten to know this room intimately. But now, he stands in front of an unknown.

He’s about to knock (seconds away from it, he’s sure) when the door magically opens and Julian’s standing there with an undershirt on and bags under his eyes. He barely looks like he’s gotten any more sleep than Niall. He also screams.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing, Jesus Christ, you just scared me half to shit,” he yells, maybe just a tad too loud. Even if Niall’s already established that everyone is awake.

Niall swings the guitar around and thumps his hand against the topboard, “Need a bit of help,”

He smiles. Julian doesn’t smile back. But he doesn’t frown or grimace or sneer. He just looks the same, really, and Niall’ll take that.

“I was going to get some ice,” Julian says, and he holds up the bucket in his hand.

“Ice can wait,” Niall says, just for Julian to say back, “Ice melts,”

“It won’t take long,”

“And you can’t ask John because…”

“John’s busy,”

“I know for a _fact_ John’s not doing shit,”

“Fuck, come on, Julian. It’ll only take a minute,”

Julian looks like he wants to fight a bit more, possibly wants to kick Niall out of the hotel, but he stands aside and watches Niall shuffle into the room. He puts the ice bucket back on the bathroom counter, and when Niall sits on the edge of one bed, Julian takes his place on the opposite one. Niall gives himself a second to run his fingers over the strings, to make sure it’s tuned (because Liam _still_ hasn’t got that down). And when he finally feels as if he’s put it off enough, he looks Julian square in the eye, gulps down a nervous giggle, and starts.

“Just…” he sighs, “listen,”

He plays out the opening chord of the song, and Julian’s expression changes as he recognizes it. Niall’s been playing around with it for ages so it sounds a bit different now (more solid, less dreamy, more full-bodied, less plucky) but it’s still so obviously the song he’s been stuck on since that first time in London. And Niall can’t really read Julian’s face, can’t tell what he was expecting, but as the intro starts to play out he decides it doesn’t matter, and he just sings.

 

_You’re an unmade bed, a quick getaway_

_A gaping mouth with words left to say_

_A forgotten shirt in the bottom of my bag_

_A distant memory I’ll never get back_

_An inked-up promise on fading skin_

_An age-old apology that won’t sink in_

_The last touch of a hand too loose to hold_

_And a drawn-out story too long to be told_

 

Niall’s had this song down forever, now. Ever since Zayn left the words have been in his mind, jumbling together until he put himself to it to just focus and make sense of them. And it wasn’t always easy, or pretty, or any positive characteristic he could ascribe to it, but it _was_ cathartic. It wasn’t enough, though, to just tell himself. Now, as he sings the words with a pitchy voice and shaky fingers, he knows that it’s the final step.

It’s a song about a lot of things Niall’s never felt the need to write about before (like loss, pain, and relationships ending). It’s all in its entirety, and all about the devastation of losing someone you’d assumed would always be there, and then later cutting all ties with them.

At the end of the song he clamps his fingers against the neck and feels the vibrations die against his hand. It probably wasn’t his best rendition of the song, but now that’s he done and he’s actually sung it in front of someone (someone more than the mirror who’s played audience to it for the past few months) he feels better. There’s a weight released off him, a tightness gone, and for some reason it matters to him even more that it was Julian who got to listen to it first. Julian who’s heard it since the beginning, and who’s been helping him through it all ever since.

“Shit, Niall,” Julian says. His mouth hangs open and it looks like he can barely believe that’s what Niall wanted to show him. Like he would’ve guessed Niall singing an acoustic rendition of _Barbie Girl_ before that, mostly because Niall has already done that, but.

“It’s perfect,” he continues as Niall sits there, frozen in anxiety, “It’s… so much better than what you had originally. Dynamic, heartfelt, calming. I love it, fuck, but… bro, I’m sorry to break it to you but I sent the finished album into your team a week ago. It’s too late to add,”

“Yeah… I know,” Niall says as he rests his head on the guitar, “I don’t think I’ve been writing it for the album for a long time now. Maybe it started out that way, a while ago in your studio, but ever since it’s just been for me. A way for me to say things without actually talking to anyone,”

Julian sits silently, staring at him without a response. He takes a few breaths and Niall waits for him to just say _something_ , but then Julian’s smiling and Niall doesn’t know why he’d be afraid in the first place.

“But you talked to me,” Julian whispers, “You showed it to me,”

Niall’s been awake for a while now, and in that time he’s had a fucking long time to think about what he wants.

“You said you wanted me to talk to you. You’ve actually been telling me that for a while now, so I figured that’d be a good place to start,”

“Because you…”

“Because I want to be with you,” Niall blurts out, “I want to be… more than what we were before. I don’t want to be a bed buddy or a hook-up,”

Niall stops and waits for Julian to say something, but after a few seconds he just can’t hold it in any longer.

“I want to be, like, an actual thing,” he explains, his hands wildly gesticulating, as if he couldn’t sit still even if he tried. “I don’t want us to see other people. I want to show you off to my friends, my family. I want to go on _dates_ , however shitty they may be because I can’t be out yet. Just… if you don’t want that, if you just happy with how we were, then we can go back to being friends. But this feels important, okay?”

Julian’s lips purse and he smirks, laughing a little as Niall waits for the answer.

“Gimme the guitar,” he says, holding out his hand. Niall’s weariness shows through his face, but he pulls it off, anyways.

“I don’t know why-” he starts to say, but as soon as the guitar is out of his hand, Julian’s across the space between them and kissing him hard.

Niall falls back on the bed and his head bounces, their faces crashing together mid-snog, and they have to break apart to make certain they didn’t lose any teeth, and to laugh. Julian laughs through every kiss he gives, pressing one to Niall’s nose, his cheek, his neck, his ear. And Niall just lets him, because he wants it.

“Yes,” Julian says finally, “In case you haven’t figured it out, yet, I’d kinda dig that,”

“Just a little,” Niall says as he start laughing, Julian’s smile growing even wider.

“Yeah, a little,”

“Good that you said that, cos I was thinking with all this snogging and everything that you were breaking up with me and _god_ wasn’t that a mindfu-”

Julian shuts him up, biting his lip and getting to kiss him again. He just rolls over, lays on the bed, holds on tighter, and Niall gets the idea that he’s not going to be leaving for a while.


	4. The Recovery

The sun spreads warm over Niall’s back, bathing his skin in sizzling glory. The air smells salty, breeze running cool down his back, and there’s a lingering taste of a mojito buried beneath his tongue. He breathes deep, getting the hint of sunscreen from the chest pressed against his nose, and sighs.

“Tell me another one,” he says.

“Jesus,” Julian says, and he laughs so hard Niall can feel it himself, “Don’t know why you think I have the entire page memorized,”

“Maybe because you retweet half of it. I know you know more. Gimme some more facts. Fill me up with that knowledge,”

Julian rolls his eyes and flicks Niall’s nose, which usually means _why am I dating a twenty-two year old_ , but he _actually_ says: “Americans consume more than 100 million M &Ms a day,”

Niall groans, “Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s it,”

Julian laughs and shakes his head, but he doesn’t stop, “20% of all calories consumed by humans as a whole come from rice,”

“More, more, more,” Niall pants, a smile breaking over his face even as he fights it.

“The word _pencil_ is derived from the Latin word for _little penis_ ,”

Niall’s only able to get out “Fuck, yeah, talk nerdy to me,” before he’s cackling uncontrollably. Julian betrays a smile, too, and grabs Niall around his neck so he can pull him up. And he brings their mouths together, wobbly and uncertain, so he can kiss the laughter back into Niall’s mouth.

“Oy!” Louis yells, and they break apart to stare at him wading in the shallow end of the pool, “Didn’t think this rental came with a free show!” Julian throws him back a middle finger, but Niall just curls his hand around Julian’s bicep and smiles.

Brianna kicks her leg out and splashes Louis from behind. She’s still a small girl, but her belly grows rounder and cuter by the day. Niall goes back and forth between what he thinks the baby’s going to be, today it’s a girl and he’s named her Mara Bella, after the location of the villa they all rented together. He imagines her with Louis’s eyes and Brianna’s hair and their joint dislike of footwear. Hopefully it will be even half as funny as Louis, half as kind as its momma, and half as loved as Niall.

They’re taking it slow is how Louis describes it, but he also describes it as the most fulfilling and rewarding time of his life, and they’ve only got a few more months left before it goes from 0 to 60 real quick.

“Didn’t think you were such a prude, Tommo!” Liam yells from the diving board where he and Sophia are sitting, as if they’re an old couple on a dock from some schmoopsy movie like _The Notebook._

Liam holds Sophia’s left hand in his own, and even from Niall’s spot on his (and Julian’s, shared, together) sun lounger, the rock on her finger is as visible as ever. It was expensive and antique, purple and gleaming to match her birthday and compliment her eyes. Liam took weeks looking for it, texting the band asking what the fuck rose gold was supposed to be. Wasn’t gold already a color? How could he tell her size? Was he supposed to measure it? Could he do that while she slept? And they all amused him and answered his questions, soothed his fears when he panicked once a week wondering if he was doing the right thing. And then they were the first to know when she said yes, during a private dinner that overlooked the London skyline, more tears in Liam’s eyes than hers.

“Oh, don’t you boys bother them,” Sophia says as she twists the ring on her finger, “They’re in _love_ ,”

Julian wrinkles his nose at her, but he hugs Niall closer and rubs little circles on his shoulders with the tips of his fingers. Niall smiles and thinks back to some months before, when they were soaking together in the Jacuzzi of some too-big hotel room in some too-posh hotel, when Niall fell back into the comforting hold of Julian’s chest and whispered “I love you,” And Julian pressed kiss after kiss after kiss into his scalp, enough times that he didn’t even have to say it back. Though he did.

“I can’t believe you guys are on your first break for five years, and you fuckers decide to spend it on vacation… _together_ ,”

“What can you say?” Harry says as he wades by the far wall, “We’re kinda hard to get rid of,”

Xander says something next to him and he laughs, throwing his head back and baring his teeth. And when he’s done he sends him a little glance, soft eyes mixed with small smile.

Niall doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t ask why Xander’s around so often, why they sneak off alone, why Harry’s face brightens at the mention of his name. And it’s not just that Niall doesn’t want to assume, but he knows what it’s like to be on the other end. To send off hints into space and hope that they’re ignored, waiting to figure out your own shit before everyone gives their opinion. So when Harry climbs on Xander’s back, Niall just turns his attention back to Julian, and smiles.

“What’re you so happy about?” he asks when he gets sight of Niall’s face.

“Got us a good room,” Niall says, and when Julian raises his eyebrows he continues, “It’s got a good view of the sea,”

“Oh, perfect,”

“And a big bed, lots of pillows, lots of room for activities,”

“Activities?”

“And it’s separated from the others,”

“So you mean we _don’t_ have to spend this entire week stuck with your bandmates?”

“No,” Niall laughs, “Just most of it,”

“For you?” Julian’s eyes go wide and his face brightens, “I’ll take it,”

**Author's Note:**

> I included Brianna at the end because she is actually pregnant with Louis's actual child. Whether you like it or not. 
> 
> Unfortunately Sophiam's not together anymore RIP her vintage engagement ring.


End file.
